SHIP'S  COMPANY 


Mr.  Davis,  with  a  longing  eye  at  the  omnibuses  passing  over  London 
Bridge,  asked  a  policeman  the  distance  to  Clapham 


SHIP'S  COMPANY 


BY 
W.   W.   JACOBS 


McKINLAY,  STONE  &  MACKENZIE 
NEW  YORK 


COPY-BIGHT,  1909,  igio,  1911,  sy 
W.  W.  JACOBS 


COPYBICHT,   I9II,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  October,  1911 


StacK 

Annex 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER,  OLWEN  " 


CONTENTS 

MM 

FINE  FEATHERS 3 

FRIENDS  IN  NEED 25 

GOOD  INTENTIONS 49 

FAIRY  GOLD 71 

WATCH-DOGS *  •  93 

THE  BEQUEST 115 

THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL 137 

DUAL  CONTROL 159 

SKILLED  ASSISTANCE 179 

FOR  BETTER  OR  WORSE 199 

THE  OLD  MAN  OF  THE  SEA 221 

"  MANNERS  MAKYTH  MAN  " 245 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FROM    DRAWINGS    BY   WILL   OWEN 

MGK 

"Can  I  'ave  it  took  off  while  I  eat  my  bloater,  mother?"      .    .  2 

"Been  paddlin'?"  he  inquired ai 

"Cheer  up,"  said  Mr.  George  Brown 24 

Mr.  Gibbs,  with  his  back  against  the  post,  fought  for  nearly  half 

an  hour 31 

"Where  is  he?"  she  gasped 39 

"Gone!"  exclaimed  both  gentlemen.     "Where?" 44 

"Why  was  wimmen  made?     Wot  good  are  they?"      ....  48 

"As  far  as  I'm  concerned  he  can  take  this  lady  to  a  music-'all 

every  night  of  the  week  if  'e  likes" 65 

Mr.  Chase,  with  his  friend  in  his  powerful  grasp,  was  doing  his 

best,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  shake  the  life  out  of  him  ...  70 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter?"  she  inquired 80 

"As  I  was  a-saying,  kindness  to  animals  is  all  very  well"      .     .  92 

"The  quietest  man  o'  the  whole  lot  was  Bob  Pretty"  ....  102 
"Some  of  'em  went  and  told  Mr.  Bunnett  some  more  things 

about  Bob  next  day" 105 

"Bob  Pretty  lifted  'is  foot  and  caught  Joseph  one  behind  that 

surprised  'im" no 

"Me?  "said  the  other  with  a  gasp.     "Me?" 114 


Illustrations 

PAGI 

"Evening,  Bob,"  he  said,  in  stricken  accents 116 

"Just  what  I  told  her,"  said  Mr.  Digson.    "What'll  please  you 
will  be  sure  to  please  him,"  I  says 128 

"She'll  be  riding  in  her  carriage  and  pair  in  six  months"      .    .  131 

"The  lodger  was  standing  at  the  foot  o'  Ginger's  bed,  going 
through  'is  pockets" 136 

"'We  thought  you  might  want  it,  Sam,' ses  Peter"      ....  146 
A  very  faint  squeeze  in  return  decided  him 158 

He  felt  the  large  and  clumsy  hand  of  Mr.  Butler  take  him  by 
the  collar 175 

"I  tell  you,  I  am  as  innercent  as  a  new-born  babe"     .     .     .     .178 

"And  next  moment  I  went  over  back'ards  in  twelve  foot  of 
water" 195 

His  friend  complied 198 

"You  tell  'er  that  there's  two  gentlemen  here  what  have  brought 

'er  news  of  her  husband" 205 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Mary?" 209 

"If  I  take  you  back  again,"  repeated  his  wife,  "are  you  going  to 
behave  yourself?" 217 

"What  I  want  you  to  do,"  said  Mr.  George  Wright,  "is  to  be  an 
uncle  to  me" 220 

"It'll  do  to  go  on  with,"  he  said 224 

"'Ow  much  did  you  say  you'd  got  in  the  bank?" 226 

"'Gal  overboard!' I  ses,  shouting" 244 

"Arter  trying  his  'ardest,  he  could  only  rock  me  a  bit"     .    .    .  253 


FINE  FEATHERS 


1  Can  I  'ave  it  took  off  while  I  eat  my  bloater,  mother  ?  ** 


Fine  Feathers 

MR.   JOBSON  awoke  with   a    Sundayish 
feeling,  probably  due  to  the   fact  that 
it   was    Bank    Holiday.     He  had    been 
aware,  in  a  dim  fashion,  of  the  rising  of  Mrs.  Job- 
son  some  time  before,  and  in  a  semi-conscious  con- 
dition had  taken  over  a  large  slice  of  unoccupied 
territory.     He  stretched  himself  and  yawned,  and 
then,  by  an  effort  of  will,  threw  off  the  clothes  and 
springing  out  of  bed  reached  for  his  trousers. 

He  was  an  orderly  man,  and  had  hung  them 
every  night  for  over  twenty  years  on  the  brass 
knob  on  his  side  of  the  bed.  He  had  hung  them 
there  the  night  before,  and  now  they  had  absconded 
with  a  pair  of  red  braces  just  entering  their  teens. 
Instead,  on  a  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  was  a 
collection  of  garments  that  made  him  shudder. 
With  trembling  fingers  he  turned  over  a  black  tail- 
coat, a  white  waistcoat,  and  a  pair  of  light  check 
trousers.  A  white  shirt,  a  collar,  and  tie  kept 
them  company,  and,  greatest  outrage  of  all,  a  tall 
silk  hat  stood  on  its  own  band-box  beside  the 
chair.  Mr.  Jobson,  fingering  his  bristly  chin, 
stood  regarding  the  collection  with  a  wan  smile. 

3 


Fine  Feathers 

"So  that's  their  little  game,  is  it  ?"  he  muttered. 
"Want  to  make  a  toff  of  me.  Where's  my  clothes 
got  to,  I  wonder?" 

A  hasty  search  satisfied  him  that  they  were  not 
in  the  room,  and,  pausing  only  to  drape  himself 
in  the  counterpane,  he  made  his  way  into  the  next. 
He  passed  on  to  the  others,  and  then,  with  a  grow- 
ing sense  of  alarm,  stole  softly  downstairs  and 
making  his  way  to  the  shop  continued  the  search. 
With  the  shutters  up  the  place  was  almost  in  dark- 
ness, and  in  spite  of  his  utmost  care  apples  and 
potatoes  rolled  on  to  the  floor  and  travelled  across 
it  in  a  succession  of  bumps.  Then  a  sudden  turn 
brought  the  scales  clattering  down. 

"Good  gracious,  Alf!"  said  a  voice.  "What- 
ever are  you  a-doing  of?" 

Mr.  Jobson  turned  and  eyed  his  wife,  who  was 
standing  at  the  door. 

"I'm  looking  for  my  clothes,  mother,"  he  re- 
plied, briefly. 

"Clothes!"  said  Mrs.  Jobson,  with  an  obvious 
attempt  at  unconcerned  speech.  "Clothes!  Why, 
they're  on  the  chair." 

"I  mean  clothes  fit  for  a  Christian  to  wear — fit 
for  a  greengrocer  to  wear,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  rais- 
ing his  voice. 

"It  was  a  little  surprise  for  you,  dear,"  said  his 

4 


Fine  Feathers 

wife.  "Me  and  Bert  and  Gladys  and  Dorothy 
'ave  all  been  saving  up  for  it  for  ever  so  long." 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  all,"  said  Mr.  Jobson, 
feebly —  "very,  but " 

"  They've  all  been  doing  without  things  them- 
selves to  do  it,"  interjected  his  wife.  "As  for 
Gladys,  Pm  sure  nobody  knows  what  she's  given 
up." 

"Well,  if  nobody  knows,  it  don't  matter,"  said 
Mr.  Jobson.  "As  I  was  saying,  it's  very  kind  of 
you  all,  but  I  can't  wear  'em.  Where's  my 
others?" 

Mrs.  Jobson  hesitated. 

"Where's  my  others?"  repeated  her  husband. 

"  They're  being  took  care  of,"  replied  his  wife* 
with  spirit.  "Aunt  Emma's  minding  'em  for  you. 
— and  you  know  what  she  is.  H'sh!  Alf !  dlff 
I'm  surprised  at  you!" 

Mr.  Jobson  coughed.  "It's  the  collar,  mother/* 
he  said  at  last.  "I  ain't  wore  a  collar  for  over 
twenty  years;  not  since  we  was  walking  out  to- 
gether. And  then  I  didn't  like  it." 

'"  More  shame  for  you,"  said  his  wife.  "  I'm  sure 
there's  no  other  respectable  tradesman  goes  about 
with  a  handkerchief  knotted  round  his  neck." 

"PVaps  their  skins  ain't  as  tender  as  what  mine 
is,"  urged  Mr.  Jobson;  "and  besides,  fancy  me  in 

5 


Fine  Feathers 

a  top-'at!  Why,  I  shall  be  the  laughing-stock  of 
the  place." 

"Nonsense!"  said  his  wife.  "It's  only  the 
lower  classes  what  would  laugh,  and  nobody  minds 
what  they  think." 

Mr.  Jobson  sighed.  "Well,  I  shall  'ave  to  go 
back  to  bed  again,  then,"  he  said,  ruefully.  "So 
long,  mother.  Hope  you  have  a  pleasant  time  at 
the  Palace." 

He  took  a  reef  in  the  counterpane  and  with  a 
fair  amount  of  dignity,  considering  his  appearance, 
stalked  upstairs  again  and  stood  gloomily  consid- 
ering affairs  in  his  bedroom.  Ever  since  Gladys 
and  Dorothy  had  been  big  enough  to  be  objects 
of  interest  to  the  young  men  of  the  neighbour- 
hood the  clothes  nuisance  had  been  rampant.  He 
peeped  through  the  window-blind  at  the  bright 
sunshine  outside,  and  then  looked  back  at  the 
tumbled  bed.  A  murmur  of  voices  downstairs 
apprised  him  that  the  conspirators  were  awaiting 
the  result. 

He  dressed  at  last  and  stood  like  a  lamb — a  red- 
faced,  bull-necked  lamb — while  Mrs.  Jobson  fas- 
tened his  collar  for  him. 

"Bert  wanted  to  get  a  taller  one,"  she  remarked, 
"but  I  said  this  would  do  to  begin  with." 

"Wanted  it  to  come  over  my  mouth,  I  s'pose," 

6 


Fine  Feathers 

said  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Jobson.  "Well,  'ave  it 
your  own  way.  Don't  mind  about  me.  What 
with  the  trousers  and  the  collar,  I  couldn't  pick 
up  a  sovereign  if  I  saw  one  in  front  of  me." 

"If  you  see  one  I'll  pick  it  up  for  you,"  said 
his  wife,  taking  up  the  hat  and  moving  towards 
the  door.  "Come  along!" 

Mr.  Jobson,  with  his  arms  standing  out  stiffly 
from  his  sides  and  his  head  painfully  erect,  followed 
her  downstairs,  and  a  sudden  hush  as  he  entered 
the  kitchen  testified  to  the  effect  produced  by  his 
appearance.  It  was  followed  by  a  hum  of  ad- 
miration that  sent  the  blood  flying  to  his  head. 

"Why  he  couldn't  have  done  it  before  I  don't 
know,"  said  the  dutiful  Gladys.  "Why,  there  ain't 
a  man  in  the  street  looks  a  quarter  as  smart." 

"Fits  him  like  a  glove!"  said  Dorothy,  walking 
round  him. 

r'Just  the  right  length,"  said  Bert,  scrutinizing 
the  coat. 

"And  he  stands  as  straight  as  a  soldier,"  said 
Gladys,  clasping  her  hands  gleefully. 

"Collar,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  briefly.  "Can  I 
'ave  it  took  off  while  I  eat  my  bloater,  mother  ?" 

"Don't  be  silly,  Alf,"  said  his  wife.  "Gladys, 
pour  your  father  out  a  nice,  strong,  'ot  cup  o'  tea; 
and  don't  forget  that  the  train  starts  at  ha'  past  ten." 

7 


Fine  Feathers 

"It'll  start  all  right  when  it  sees  me,"  observed 
Mr.  Jobson,  squinting  down  at  his  trousers. 

Mother  and  children,  delighted  with  the  success 
of  their  scheme,  laughed  applause,  and  Mr.  Job- 
S«n  somewhat  gratified  at  the  success  of  his  retort, 
sat  down  and  attacked  his  breakfast.  A  short 
clay  pipe,  smoked  as  a  digestive,  was  impounded 
by  the  watchful  Mrs.  Jobson  the  moment  he  had 
finished  it. 

"He'd  smoke  it  along  the  street  if  I  didn't," 
she  declared. 

"And  why  not?"  demanded  her  husband.  "I 
always  do." 

"Not  in  a  top-'at,"  said  Mrs.  Jobson,  shaking 
her  head  at  him. 

"Or  a  tai?-coat,"  said  Dorothy. 

"One  would  spoil  the  other,"  said  Gladys. 

"I  wish  something  would  spoil  the  hat,"  said 
Mr.  Jobson,  wistfully.  "It's  no  good;  I  must 
smoke,  mother." 

Mrs.  Jobson  smiled,  and,  going  to  the  cupboard, 
produced,  with  a  smile  of  triumph,  an  envelope 
containing  seven  dangerous-looking  cigars.  Mr. 
Jobson  whistled,  and  taking  one  up  examined  it 
carefully. 

"What  do  they  call  'em,  mother  ?"  he  inquired. 
*The  'Cut  and  Try  Again  Smokes'  ?" 

8 


Fine  Feathers 

Mrs.  Jobson  smiled  vaguely.    "Me  and  the  girls 
are  going  upstairs  to  get  ready  now,"  she  said. 
"Keep  your  eye  on  him,  Bert!" 

Father  and  son  grinned  at  each  other,  and,  to 
pass  the  time,  took  a  cigar  apiece.  They  had  just 
finished  them  when  a  swish  and  rustle  of  skirts 
sounded  from  the  stairs,  and  Mrs.  Jobson  and  the 
girls,  beautifully  attired,  entered  the  room  and 
stood  buttoning  their  gloves.  A  strong  smell  of 
scent  fought  with  the  aroma  of  the  cigars. 

''  You  get  round  me  like,  so  as  to  hide  me  a  bit," 
entreated  Mr.  Jobson,  as  they  quitted  the  house. 
"I  don't  mind  so  much  when  we  get  out  of  our 


street." 


Mrs.  Jobson  laughed  his  fears  to  scorn. 

"Well,  cross  the  road,  then,"  said  Mr.  Jobson, 
urgently.  "There's  Bill  Foley  standing  at  his 
door." 

His  wife  sniffed.  "Let  him  stand,"  she  said, 
haughtily. 

Mr.  Foley  failed  to  avail  himself  of  the  permis- 
sion. He  regarded  Mr.  Jobson  with  dilated  eye- 
balls, and,  as  the  party  approached,  sank  slowly 
into  a  sitting  position  on  his  doorstep,  and  as  the 
door  opened  behind  him  rolled  slowly  over  onto 
his  back  and  presented  an  enormous  pair  of  hok- 
nailed  soles  to  the  gaze  of  an  interested  world. 

9 


Fine  Feathers 

"I  told  you  'ow  it  would  be,"  said  the  blushing 
Mr.  Jobson.  "You  know  what  Bill's  like  as  well 
as  I  do. 

His  wife  tossed  her  head  and  they  all  quickened 
their  pace.  The  voice  of  the  ingenious  Mr.  Foley 
calling  piteously  for  his  mother  pursued  them  to 
the  end  of  the  road. 

"I  knew  what  it  'ud  be,"  said  Mr.  Jobson, 
wiping  his  hot  face.  "Bill  will  never  let  me  'ear 
the  end  of  this." 

"Nonsense!"  said  his  wife,  bridling.  " Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  you've  got  to  ask  Bill  Foley  'ow 
you're  to  dress  ?  He'll  soon  get  tired  of  it;  and, 
besides,  it's  just  as  well  to  let  him  see  who  you 
are.  There's  not  many  tradesmen  as  would  lower 
themselves  by  mixing  with  a  plasterer." 

Mr.  Jobson  scratched  his  ear,  but  wisely  re- 
frained from  speech.  Once  clear  of  his  own  dis- 
trict mental  agitation  subsided,  but  bodily  dis- 
comfort increased  at  every  step.  The  hat  and  the 
collar  bothered  him  most,  but  every  article  of  at- 
tire contributed  its  share.  His  uneasiness  was  so 
manifest  that  Mrs.  Jobson,  after  a  little  womanly 
sympathy,  suggested  that,  besides  Sundays,  it 
might  be  as  well  to  wear  them  occasionally  of  an 
evening  in  order  to  get  used  to  them. 

"What,  'ave  I  got  to  wear  them  every  Sun- 

10 


Fine  Feathers 

day?"  demanded  the  unfortunate,  blankly;  "why, 
I  thought  they  was  only  for  Bank  Holidays." 

Mrs.  Jobson  told  him  not  to  be  silly. 

"Straight,  I  did,"  said  her  husband,  earnestly. 
!t You've  no  idea  'ow  I'm  suffering;  I've  got  a 
headache,  I'm  arf  choked,  and  there's  a  feeling 
about  my  waist  as  though  I'm  being  cuddled  by 
somebody  I  don't  like." 

Mrs.  Jobson  said  it  would  soon  wear  off  and, 
seated  in  the  train  that  bore  them  to  the  Crystal 
Palace,  put  the  hat  on  the  rack.  Her  husband's 
attempt  to  leave  it  in  the  train  was  easily  frustrated 
and  his  explanation  that  he  had  forgotten  all  about 
it  received  in  silence.  It  was  evident  that  he  would 
require  watching,  and  under  the  clear  gaze  of  his 
children  he  seldom  had  a  button  undone  for  more 
than  three  minutes  at  a  time. 

The  day  was  hot  and  he  perspired  profusely. 
His  collar  lost  its  starch — a  thing  to  be  grateful 
for — and  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day  he  wore 
his  tie  under  the  left  ear.  By  the  time  they  had 
arrived  home  again  he  was  in  a  state  of  open 
mutiny. 

"Never  again,"  he  said,  loudly,  as  he  tore  the 
collar  off  and  hung  his  coat  on  a  chair. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  lamentation;  but  he  re- 
mained firm.  Dorothy  began  to  sniff  ominously, 

IT 


Fine  Feathers 

and  Gladys  spoke  longingly  of  the  fathers  pos- 
sessed by  other  girls.  It  was  not  until  Mrs.  Jobson 
sat  eyeing  her  supper,  instead  of  eating  it,  that  he 
began  to  temporize.  He  gave  way  bit  by  bit,  gar- 
ment by  garment.  When  he  gave  way  at  last  on 
the  great  hat  question,  his  wife  took  up  her  knife 
and  fork. 

His  workaday  clothes  appeared  in  his  bedroom 
next  morning,  but  the  others  still  remained  in  the 
clutches  of  Aunt  Emma.  The  suit  provided  was 
of  considerable  antiquity,  and  at  closing  time,  Mr. 
Jobson,  after  some  hesitation,  donned  his  new 
clothes  and  with  a  sheepish  glance  at  his  wife 
went  out.  Mrs.  Jobson  nodded  delight  at  her 
daughters. 

"He's  coming  round,"  she  whispered.  "He 
liked  that  ticket-collector  calling  him  'sir*  yester- 
day. I  noticed  it.  He's  put  on  everything  but  the 
topper.  Don't  say  nothing  about  it;  take  it  as  a 
matter  of  course." 

It  became  evident  as  the  days  wore  on  that  she 
was  right.  Bit  by  bit  she  obtained  the  other 
clothes — with  some  difficulty — from  Aunt  Emma, 
but  her  husband  still  wore  his  best  on  Sundays  and 
sometimes  of  an  evening;  and  twice,  on  going  into 
the  bedroom  suddenly,  she  had  caught  him  sur- 
veying himself  at  different  angles  in  the  glass. 


Fine  Feathers 

And,  moreover,  he  had  spoken  with  some  heat — 
for  such  a  good-tempered  man — on  the  shortcom- 
ings of  Dorothy's  laundry  work. 

"We'd  better  put  your  collars  out,"  said  his 
wife. 

"And  the  shirts,"  said  Mr.  Jobson.  "Nothing 
looks  worse  than  a  bad  got-up  cuff." 

"You're  getting  quite  dressy,"  said  his  wife, 
with  a  laugh. 

Mr.  Jobson  eyed  her  seriously. 

"No,  mother,  no,"  he  replied.  "All  I've  done 
is  to  find  out  that  you're  right,  as  you  always  'ave 
been.  A  man  in  my  persition  has  got  no  right  to 
dress  as  if  he  kept  a  stall  on  the  kerb.  It  ain't  fair 
to  the  gals,  or  to  young  Bert.  I  don't  want  'em 
to  be  ashamed  of  their  father." 

"They  wouldn't  be  that,"  said  Mrs.  Jobson. 

"I'm  trying  to  improve,"  said  her  husband. 
"O'  course,  it's  no  use  dressing  up  and  behaving 
wrong,  and  yesterday  I  bought  a  book  what  tells 
you  all  about  behaviour." 

"Well  done!"    said  the  delighted  Mrs.  Jobson. 

Mr.  Jobson  was  glad  to  find  that  her  opinion 
on  his  purchase  was  shared  by  the  rest  of  the 
family.  Encouraged  by  their  approval,  he  told 
them  of  the  benefit  he  was  deriving  from  it;  and 
at  tea-time  that  day,  after  a  little  hesitation,  ven- 

13 


Fine  Feathers 

tured  to  affirm  that  it  was  a  book  that  might  do 
them  all  good. 

"Hear,  hear!"    said  Gladys. 

"For  one  thing,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  slowly,  "I 
didn't  know  before  that  it  was  wrong  to  blow  your 
tea;  and  as  for  drinking  it  out  of  a  saucer,  the 
book  says  it's  a  thing  that  is  only  done  by  the 
lower  orders." 

"If  you're  in  a  hurry?"  demanded  Mr.  Bert 
Jobson,  pausing  with  his  saucer  half  way  to  his 
mouth. 

"If  you're  in  anything,"  responded  his  father. 
"A  gentleman  would  rather  go  without  his  tea 
than  drink  it  out  of  a  saucer.  That's  the  sort  o' 
thing  Bill  Foley  would  do." 

Mr.  Bert  Jobson  drained  his  saucer  thought- 
fully. 

"Picking  your  teeth  with  your  finger  is  wrong, 
too,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  taking  a  breath.  "Food 
should  be  removed  in  a — a — un — undemonstrative 
fashion  with  the  tip  of  the  tongue." 

"I  wasn't,"  said  Gladys. 

"A  knife,"  pursued  her  father — "a  knife  should 
never  in  any  circumstances  be  allowed  near  the 
mouth." 

'You've  made  mother  cut  herself,"  said  Gladys, 
sharply;    "that's  what  you've  done." 


Fine  Feathers 

"I  thought  it  was  my  fork,"  said  Mrs.  Jobson. 
"I  was  so  busy  listening  I  wasn't  thinking  what 
I  was  doing.  Silly  of  me." 

"We  shall  all  do  better  in  time,"  said  Mr.  Job- 
son.  "But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  what  about 
the  gravy  ?  You  can't  eat  it  with  a  fork,  and  it 
don't  say  nothing  about  a  spoon.  Oh,  and  what 
about  our  cold  tubs,  mother?" 

"Cold  tubs?"  repeated  his  wife,  staring  at  him. 
"What  cold  tubs?" 

"The  cold  tubs  me  and  Bert  ought  to  *ave," 
said  Mr.  Jobson.  "It  says  in  the  book  that  an 
Englishman  would  just  as  soon  think  of  going 
without  his  breakfus'  as  his  cold  tub;  and  you 
know  how  fond  I  am  of  my  breakfus'." 

"And  what  about  me  and  the  gals?"  said  the 
amazed  Mrs.  Jobson. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me,  ma,"  said  Gladys, 
hastily. 

"The  book  don't  say  nothing  about  gals;  it  says 
Englishmen,"  said  Mr.  Jobson. 

"But  we  ain't  got  a  bathroom,"  said  his  son. 

"It  don't  signify,"  said  Mr.  Jobson.  "A  wash- 
tub'll  do.  Me  and  Bert'll  'ave  a  washtub  each 
brought  up  overnight;  and  it'll  be  exercise  for 
the  gals  bringing  the  water  up  of  a  morning  to  us.*5 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  be- 

15 


Fine  Feathers 

wildered  Mrs.  Jobson.  "Anyway,  you  and  Bert'Il 
'ave  to  carry  the  tubs  up  and  down.  Messy,  I  call 
it." 

"  It's  got  to  be  done,  mother,"  said  Mr.  Jobson 
cheerfully.  "It's  only  the  lower  orders  what  don't 
'ave  their  cold  tub  reg'lar.  The  book  says  so." 

He  trundled  the  tub  upstairs  the  same  night  and, 
after  his  wife  had  gone  downstairs  next  morning, 
opened  the  door  and  took  in  the  can  and  pail  that 
stood  outside.  He  poured  the  contents  into  the 
tub,  and,  after  eyeing  it  thoughtfully  for  some 
time,  agitated  the  surface  with  his  right  foot.  He 
dipped  and  dried  that  much  enduring  member 
some  ten  times,  and  after  regarding  the  damp  con- 
dition of  the  towels  with  great  satisfaction,  dressed 
himself  and  went  downstairs. 

"I'm  all  of  a  glow,"  he  said,  seating  himself  at 
the  table.  "I  believe  I  could  eat  a  elephant.  I 
feel  as  fresh  as  a  daisy;  don't  you,  Bert?" 

Mr.  Jobson,  junior,  who  had  just  come  in  from 
the  shop,  remarked,  shortly,  that  he  felt  more  like 
a  blooming  snowdrop. 

"And  somebody  slopped  a  lot  of  water  over  the 
stairs  carrying  it  up,"  said  Mrs.  Jobson.  "I  don't 
believe  as  everybody  has  cold  baths  of  a  morning. 
It  don't  seem  wholesome  to  me." 

Mr.  Jobson  took  a  book  from  his  pocket,  and 

16 


Fine  Feathers 

opening  it  at  a  certain  page,  handed  k  over  to 
her. 

"If  I'm  going  to  do  the  thing  at  all  I  must  do 
it  properly,"  he  said,  gravely.  "I  don't  suppose 
Bill  Foley  ever  'ad  a  cold  tub  in  his  life;  he  don't 
know  no  better.  Gladys!" 

"Halloa!"   said  that  young  lady,  with  a  start. 

"Are  you — are  you  eating  that  kipper  with  your 
fingers  ?" 

Gladys  turned  and  eyed  her  mother  appealingly. 

"Page — page  one  hundred  and  something,  I  think 
it  is,"  said  her  father,  with  his  mouth  full.  "  'Man- 
ners at  the  Dinner  Table.'  It's  near  the  end  of  the 
book,  I  know." 

"If  I  never  do  no  worse  than  that  I  shan't  come  to 
no  harm,"  said  his  daughter. 

Mr.  Jobson  shook  his  head  at  her,  and  after  eat- 
ing his  breakfast  with  great  care,  wiped  his  mouth 
on  his  handkerchief  and  went  into  the  shop. 

"I  suppose  it's  all  right,"  said  Mrs.  Jobson, 
looking  after  him,  "but  he's  taking  it  very  serious 
— very." 

"He  washed  his  hands  five  times  yesterday  morn- 
ing," said  Dorothy,  who  had  just  come  in  from  the 
shop  to  her  breakfast;  "and  kept  customers  waiting 
while  he  did  it,  too." 

"It's  the  cold-tub  business  I  can't  get  over,"  said 

17 


Fine  Feathers 

her  mother.  "I'm  sure  it's  more  trouble  to  empty 
them  than  what  it  is  to  fill  them.  There's  quite 
enough  work  in  the  'ouse  as  it  is." 

"Too  much,"  said  Bert,  with  unwonted  considera- 
tion. 

"I  wish  he'd  leave  me  alone,"  said  Gladys.  "My 
food  don't  do  me  no  good  when  he's  watching  every 
mouthful  I  eat." 

Of  murmurings  such  as  these  Mr.  Jobson  heard 
nothing,  and  in  view  of  the  great  improvement  in 
his  dress  and  manners,  a  strong  resolution  was 
passed  to  avoid  the  faintest  appearance  of  discon- 
tent. Even  when,  satisfied  with  his  own  appear- 
ance, he  set  to  work  to  improve  that  of  Mrs.  Jobson, 
that  admirable  woman  made  no  complaint.  Hith- 
erto the  brightness  of  her  attire  and  the  size  of  her 
hats  had  been  held  to  atone  for  her  lack  of  figure 
and  the  roomy  comfort  of  her  boots,  but  Mr.  Job- 
son,  infected  with  new  ideas,  refused  to  listen  to 
such  sophistry.  He  went  shopping  with  Dorothy; 
and  the  Sunday  after,  when  Mrs.  Jobson  went  for 
an  airing  with  him,  she  walked  in  boots  with  heels 
two  inches  high  and  toes  that  ended  in  a  point.  A 
waist  that  had  disappeared  some  years  before  was 
recaptured  and  placed  in  durance  vile;  and  a  hat 
which  called  for  a  new  style  of  hair-dressing  com- 
pleted the  effect. 

18 


Fine  Fe*K§i§  SANTEU 

"You  look  splendid,  ma!"  said  Gladys,  as  she 
watched  their  departure.  "Splendid!" 

"I  don't  feel  splendid,"  sighed  Mrs.  Jobson  to  her 
husband.  "These  'ere  boots  feel  red-'ot." 

"Your  usual  size,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  looking  across 
the  road. 

"And  the  clothes  seem  just  a  teeny-weeny  bit 
tight,  p'r'aps,"  continued  his  wife. 

Mr.  Jobson  regarded  her  critically.  "  P'r'aps  they 
might  have  been  let  out  a  quarter  of  an  inch,"  he 
said,  thoughtfully.  "They're  the  best  fit  you've  'ad 
for  a  long  time,  mother.  I  only  'ope  the  gals'll  'ave 
such  good  figgers." 

His  wife  smiled  faintly,  but,  with  little  breath  for 
conversation,  walked  on  for  some  time  in  silence. 
A  growing  redness  of  face  testified  to  her  distress. 

"I — I  feel  awful,"  she  said  at  last,  pressing  her 
hand  to  her  side.  "Awful" 

"You'll  soon  get  used  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Jobson, 
gently.  "Look  at  me!  I  felt  like  you  do  at  first, 
and  now  I  wouldn't  go  back  to  old  clothes — and  com- 
fort— for  anything.  You'll  get  to  love  them  boots." 

"If  I  could  only  take  'em  off  I  should  love  'em 
better,"  said  his  wife,  panting;  "and  I  can't  breathe 
properly — I  can't  breathe." 

"You  look  ripping,  mother,"  said  her  husband, 
simply. 

19 


Fine  Feathers 

His  wife  essayed  another  smile,  but  failed.  She 
set  her  lips  together  and  plodded  on,  Mr.  Jobson 
chatting  cheerily  and  taking  no  notice  of  the  fact 
that  she  kept  lurching  against  him.  Two  miles 
from  home  she  stopped  and  eyed  him  fixedly. 

"If  I  don't  get  these  boots  off,  Alf,  I  shall  be  a 
'elpless  cripple  for  the  rest  of  my  days,"  she  mur- 
mured. "My  ankle's  gone  over  three  times." 

"But  you  can't  take  'em  off  here,"  said  Mr.  Job- 
son,  hastily.  'Think  'ow  it  would  look." 

"I  must  'ave  a  cab  or  something,"  said  his  wife, 
hysterically.  "If  I  don't  get  'em  off  soon  I  shall 
scream." 

She  leaned  against  the  iron  palings  of  a  house  for 
support,  while  Mr.  Jobson,  standing  on  the  kerb, 
looked  up  and  down  the  road  for  a  cab.  A  four- 
wheeler  appeared  just  in  time  to  prevent  the  scandal 
of  Mrs.  Jobson  removing  her  boots  in  the  street. 

"Thank  goodness,"  she  gasped,  as  she  climbed 
in.  "Never  mind  about  untying  'em,  Alf;  cut  the 
laces  and  get  'em  off  quick." 

They  drove  home  with  the  boots  standing  side  by 
side  on  the  seat  in  front  of  them.  Mr.  Jobson  got 
out  first  and  knocked  at  the  door,  and  as  soon  as  it 
opened  Mrs.  Jobson  pattered  across  the  intervening 
space  with  the  boots  dangling  from  her  hand.  She 
had  nearly  reached  the  door  when  Mr.  Foley,  who 

20 


Fine  Feathers 

had  a  diabolical  habit  of  always  being  on  hand  when 
he  was  least  wanted,  appeared  suddenly  from  the  off- 
side of  the  cab. 


"  Been  paddlin'  ?  "  he  inquired 

"Been  paddlin'  ?"   he  inquired. 

Mrs.  Jobson,  safe  in  her  doorway,  drew  herself 
up  and,  holding  the  boots  behind  her,  surveyed  him 
with  a  stare  of  high-bred  disdain. 

21 


Fine  Feathers 

"  I  see  you  going  down  the  road  in  *em,"  said  the 
unabashed  Mr.  Foley,  "and  I  says  to  myself,  I  says, 
'Pride'll  bear  a  pinch,  but  she's  going  too  far.  If 
she  thinks  that  she  can  squeedge  those  little  tootsy- 
wootsies  of  'ers  into  them  boo — 

The  door  slammed  violently  and  left  him  exchang- 
ing grins  with  Mr.  Jobson. 

"How's  the  'at?"   he  inquired. 

Mr.  Jobson  winked.  "Bet  you  a  level  'arf-dollar 
I  ain't  wearing  it  next  Sunday,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

Mr.  Foley  edged  away. 

"Not  good  enough,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head. 
"I've  had  a  good  many  bets  with  you  first  and  last, 
Alf,  but  I  can't  remember  as  I  ever  won  one  yet. 
So  long." 


22 


FRIENDS  IN  NEED 


1  Cheer  up,"  said  Mr.  George  Brown 


Friends  in  Need 

MR.  JOSEPH  GIBBS  finished  his  half-pint 
in  the  private  bar  of  the  Red  Lion  with 
the  slowness  of  a  man  unable  to  see  where 
the  next  was  coming  from,  and,  placing  the  mug  on 
the  counter,  filled  his  pipe  from  a  small  paper  of 
tobacco  and  shook  his  head  slowly  at  his  companions. 
"First  I've  'ad  since  ten  o'clock  this  morning," 
he  said,  in  a  hard  voice. 

"Cheer  up,"  said  Mr.  George  Brown. 
"It  can't  go  on  for  ever,"  said  Bob  Kidd,  encour- 
agingly. 

"All  I  ask  for — is  work,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  impres- 
sively.    "Not  slavery,  mind  yer,  but  work." 

"It's   rather   difficult   to   distinguish,"    said    Mr. 
Brown. 

f  'Specially  for  some  people,"  added  Mr.  Kidd. 
"Go  on,"  said   Mr.  Gibbs,  gloomily.     "Go  on. 
Stand  a  man  'arf  a  pint,  and  then  go  and  hurt  'is 
feelings.     Twice   yesterday   I    wondered   to    myself 
what  it  would  feel  like  to  make  a  hole  in  the  water." 
"  Lots  o'  chaps  do  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  musingly, 
"And  leave  their  wives  and  families  to  starve," 
said  Mr.  Gibbs,  icily. 

25 


Friends  in  Need 

"Very  often  the  wife  is  better  off,"  said  his  friend. 
"It's  one  mouth  less  for  her  to  feed.  Besides,  she 
gen'rally  gets  something.  When  pore  old  Bill  went 
they  'ad  a  Friendly  Lead  at  the  '  King's  Head'  and 
got  his  missis  pretty  nearly  seventeen  pounds." 

"And  I  believe  we'd  get  more  than  that  for  your 
old  woman,"  said  Mr.  Kidd.  "There's  no  kids,  and 
she  could  keep  'erself  easy.  Not  that  I  want  to  en- 
courage you  to  make  away  with  yourself." 

Mr.  Gibbs  scowled  and,  tilting  his  mug,  peered 
gloomily  into  the  interior. 

"Joe  won't  make  no  'ole  in  the  water,"  said  Mr. 
Brown,  wagging  his  head.  "  If  it  was  beer,  now 

Mr.  Gibbs  turned  and,  drawing  himself  up  to  five 
feet  three,  surveyed  the  speaker  with  an  offensive 
stare. 

"I  don't  see  why  he  need  make  a  'ole  in  anything," 
said  Mr.  Kidd,  slowly.  "It  'ud  do  just  as  well  if 
we  said  he  'ad.  Then  we  could  pass  the  hat  round 
and  share  it." 

"Divide  it  into  three  halves  and  each  'ave  one,* 
said  Mr.  Brown,  nodding;  "but  'ow  is  it  to  he 
done?" 

'  'Ave  some  more  beer  and  think  it  over,"  said 
Mr.  Kidd,  pale  with  excitement.  "Three  pints, 
please." 

He  and  Mr.  Brown  took  up  their  pints,  and  nod- 

26 


Friends  in  Need 

ded  at  each  other.  Mr.  Gibbs,  toying  idly  with  the 
handle  of  his,  eyed  them  carefully.  "Mind,  I'm  not 
promising  anything,"  he  said,  slowly.  "Understand, 
I  ain't  a-committing  of  myself  by  drinking  this  'ere 
pint." 

"You  leave  it  to  me,  Joe,"  said  Mr.  Kidd. 

Mr.  Gibbs  left  it  to  him  after  a  discussion  in  which 
pints  played  a  persuasive  part;  with  the  result  that 
Mr.  Brown,  sitting  in  the  same  bar  the  next  evening 
with  two  or  three  friends,  was  rudely  disturbed 
by  the  cyclonic  entrance  of  Mr.  Kidd,  who,  drip- 
ping with  water,  sank  on  a  bench  and  breathed 
heavily. 

"What's  up?  What's  the  matter  ?"  demanded  sev- 
eral voices. 

"It's  Joe— poor  Joe  Gibbs,"  said  Mr.  Kidd.  "I 
was  on  Smith's  wharf  shifting  that  lighter  to  the  next 
berth,  and,  o'  course  Joe  must  come  aboard  to  help. 
He  was  shoving  her  off  with  'is  foot  when " 

He  broke  off  and  shuddered  and,  accepting  a  mug 
of  beer,  pending  the  arrival  of  some  brandy  that  a 
sympathizer  had  ordered,  drank  it  slowly. 

"It  all  'appened  in  a  flash,"  he  said,  looking 
round.  "  By  the  time  I  'ad  run  round  to  his  end  he 
was  just  going  down  for  the  third  time.  I  hung  over 
the  side  and  grabbed  at  'im,  and  his  collar  and  tie 
came  off  in  my  hand.  Nearly  went  in,  I  did." 

27 


Friends  in  Need 

He  held  out  the  collar  and  tie;  and  approving 
notice  was  taken  of  the  fact  that  he  was  soaking  wet 
from  the  top  of  his  head  to  the  middle  button  of  his 
waistcoat. 

"Pore  chap!"  said  the  landlord,  leaning  over  the 
bar.  "He  was  in  'ere  only  'arf  an  hour  ago,  stand- 
ing in  this  very  bar." 

"Well,  he's  'ad  his  last  drop  o'  beer,"  said  a  car- 
man in  a  chastened  voice. 

"That's  more  than  anybody  can  say,"  said  the 
landlord,  sharply.  "I  never  heard  anything  against 
the  man;  he's  led  a  good  life  so  far  as  I  know,  and 
'ow  can  we  tell  that  he  won't  'ave  beer?" 

He  made  Mr.  Kidd  a  present  of  another  small 
glass  of  brandy. 

"He  didn't  leave  any  family,  did  he  ?"  he  inquired, 
as  he  passed  it  over. 

"Only  a  wife,"  said  Mr.  Kidd;  "and  who's  to 
tell  that  pore  soul  I  don't  know.  She  fair  doated 
on  'im.  'Ow  she's  to  live  I  don't  know.  I  shall  do 
what  I  can  for  'er." 

"Same  'ere,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  in  a  deep  voice. 

"  Something  ought  to  be  done  for  'er,"  said  the 
carman,  as  he  went  out. 

"First  thing  is  to  tell  the  police,"  said  the  landlord. 
"They  ought  to  know;  then  p'r'aps  one  of  them'll 
tell  her.  It's  what  they're  paid  for/' 

'   28 


Friends  in  Need 

"It's  so  awfully  sudden.  I  don't  know  where  I 
am  'ardly,"  said  Mr.  Kidd.  "I  don't  believe  she's 
got  a  penny-piece  in  the  'ouse.  Pore  Joe  'ad  a  lot 
o'  pals.  I  wonder  whether  we  could'nt  get  up  some- 
thing for  her." 

"Go  round  and  tell  the  police  first,"  said  the  land- 
lord, pursing  up  his  lips  thoughtfully.  "We  can  talk 
about  that  later  on." 

Mr.  Kidd  thanked  him  warmly  and  withdrew,  ac- 
companied by  Mr.  Brown.  Twenty  minutes  later 
they  left  the  station,  considerably  relieved  at  the  mat- 
ter-of-fact way  in  which  the  police  had  received  the 
tidings,  and,  hurrying  across  London  Bridge,  made 
their  way  towards  a  small  figure  supporting  its  back 
against  a  post  in  the  Borough  market. 

"Well  ?"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  snappishly,  as  he  turned 
at  the  sound  of  their  footsteps. 

"It'll  be  all  right,  Joe,"  said  Mr.  Kidd.  "We've 
sowed  the  seed." 

"Sowed  the  wot?"   demanded  the  other. 

Mr.  Kidd  explained. 

"Ho!"  said  Mr.  Gibbs.  "An'  while  your  pre- 
cious seed  is  a-coming  up,  wot  am  I  to  do  ?  Wot 
about  my  comfortable  'ome  ?  Wot  about  my  bed — 
and  grub  ?" 

His  two  friends  looked  at  each  other  uneasily. 
In  the  excitement  of  the  arrangements  they  had  for- 

29 


Friends  in  Need 

gotten  these  things,  and  a  long  and  sometimes  pain- 
ful experience  of  Mr.  Gibbs  showed  them  only  too 
plainly  where  they  were  drifting. 

'' You'll  'ave  to  get  a  bed  this  side  o'  the  river 
somewhere,'*  said  Mr.  Brown,  slowly.  "  Coffee-shop 
or  something;  and  a  smart,  active  man  wot  keeps 
his  eyes  open  can  always  pick  up  a  little  money." 

Mr.  Gibbs  laughed. 

"And  mind,"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  furiously,  in  reply 
to  the  laugh,  "anything  we  lend  you  is  to  be  paid 
back  out  of  your  half  when  you  get  it.  And,  wot's 
more,  you  don't  get  a  ha'penny  till  you've  come  into 
a  barber's  shop  and  'ad  them  whiskers  off.  We 
don't  want  no  accidents." 

Mr.  Gibbs,  with  his  back  against  the  post,  fought 
for  his  whiskers  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  was  led  into  a  barber's,  and  in  a 
state  of  sullen  indignation  proffered  his  request  for 
a  "clean"  shave.  He  gazed  at  the  bare-faced  crea- 
ture that  confronted  him  in  the  glass  after  the  opera- 
tion in  open-eyed  consternation,  and  Messrs.  Kidd 
and  Brown's  politeness  easily  gave  way  before  their 
astonishment. 

"Well,  I  may  as  well  have  a  'air-cut  while  I'm 
here,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  after  a  lengthy  survey. 

"And  a  shampoo,  sir?"   said  the  assistant. 

"Just  as  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  turning  a  deaf 

3° 


Friends  in  Need 

ear  to  the  frenzied  expostulations  of  his  financial 
backers.     " Wot  is  it?" 


Mr.  Gibbs,  with  his  back  against  the  post,  fought  for 
nearly  half  an  hour 


He  sat  in  amazed  discomfort  during  the  operation, 
ind  emerging  with  his  friends  remarked  that  he  felt 

31 


Friends  in  Need 

half  a  stone  lighter.  The  information  was  received 
in  stony  silence,  and,  having  spent  some  time  in  the 
selection,  they  found  a  quiet  public-house,  and  in  a 
retired  corner  formed  themselves  into  a  Committee 
of  Ways  and  Means. 

"That'll  do  for  you  to  go  on  with,"  said  Mr.  Kidd, 
after  he  and  Mr.  Brown  had  each  made  a  contribu- 
tion; "and,  mind,  it's  coming  off  of  your  share." 

Mr.  Gibbs  nodded.  "And  any  evening  you  want 
to  see  me  you'll  find  me  in  here,"  he  remarked. 
"  Beer's  ripping.  Now  you'd  better  go  and  see  my 
old  woman." 

The  two  friends  departed,  and,  to  their  great  relief, 
found  a  little  knot  of  people  outside  the  abode  of 
Mrs.  Gibbs.  It  was  clear  that  the  news  had  been 
already  broken,  and,  pushing  their  way  upstairs,  they 
found  the  widow  with  a  damp  handkerchief  in  her 
hand  surrounded  by  attentive  friends.  In  feeble 
accents  she  thanked  Mr.  Kidd  for  his  noble  attempts 
at  rescue. 

"He  ain't  dry  yet,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"I  done  wot  I  could,"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  simply. 
"Pore  Joe!  Nobody  could  ha'  had  a  better  pal. 
Nobody!" 

"Always  ready  to  lend  a  helping  'and  to  them  as 
was  in  trouble,  he  was,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  looking 
round. 

32 


Friends  in  Need 

'*  'Ear,  'ear!"   said  a  voice. 

"And  we'll  lend  'im  a  helping  'and,"  said  Mr. 
Kidd,  energetically.  "We  can't  do  'im  no  good, 
pore  chap,  but  we  can  try  and  do  something  for  'er 
as  is  left  behind." 

He  moved  slowly  to  the  door,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Brown,  and  catching  the  eye  of  one  or  two  of  the 
men  beckoned  them  to  follow.  Under  his  able  guid- 
ance a  small  but  gradually  increasing  crowd  made  its 
way  to  the  "Red  Lion." 

For  the  next  three  or  four  days  the  friends  worked 
unceasingly.  Cards  stating  that  a  Friendly  Lead 
would  be  held  at  the  "  Red  Lion,"  for  the  benefit  of 
the  widow  of  the  late  Mr.  Joseph  Gibbs,  were 
distributed  broadcast;  and  anecdotes  portraying  a 
singularly  rare  and  beautiful  character  obtained  an 
even  wider  circulation.  Too  late  Wapping  real- 
ized the  benevolent  disposition  and  the  kindly  but 
unobtrusive  nature  that  had  departed  from  it  for 
ever. 

Mr.  Gibbs,  from  his  retreat  across  the  water,  fully 
shared  his  friends'  enthusiasm,  but  an  insane  desire 
— engendered  by  vanity — to  be  present  at  the  func- 
tion was  a  source  of  considerable  trouble  and  annoy- 
ance to  them.  When  he  offered  to  black  his  face 
and  take  part  in  the  entertainment  as  a  nigger  min- 
strel, Mr.  Kidd  had  to  be  led  outside  and  kept  there 

33 


Friends  in  Need 

until  such  time  as  he  could  converse  in  English  pure 
and  undefiled. 

"Getting  above  'imself,  that's  wot  it  is,"  said  Mr. 
Brown,  as  they  wended  their  way  home.  "He's 
having  too  much  money  out  of  us  to  spend;  but  it 
won't  be  for  long  now." 

"  He's  having  a  lord's  life  of  it,  while  we're  slaving 
ourselves  to  death,"  grumbled  Mr.  Kidd.  "I  never 
see  'im  looking  so  fat  and  well.  By  rights  he  oughtn't 
to  'ave  the  same  share  as  wot  we're  going  to  'ave; 
he  ain't  doing  none  of  the  work." 

His  ill-humour  lasted  until  the  night  of  the  "Lead," 
which,  largely  owing  to  the  presence  of  a  sporting 
fishmonger  who  had  done  well  at  the  races  that  day, 
and  some  of  his  friends,  realized  a  sum  far  beyond  the 
expectations  of  the  hard-working  promoters.  The 
fishmonger  led  off  by  placing  a  five-pound  note  in 
the  plate,  and  the  packed  audience  breathed  so  hard 
that  the  plate-holder's  responsibility  began  to  weigh 
upon  his  spirits.  In  all,  a  financial  tribute  of  thirty- 
seven  pounds  three  and  fourpence  was  paid  to  the 
memory  of  the  late  Mr.  Gibbs. 

"Over  twelve  quid  apiece,"  said  the  delighted  Mr. 
Kidd  as  he  bade  his  co-worker  good  night.  "  Sounds 
too  good  to  be  true." 

The  next  day  passed  all  too  slowly,  but  work  was 
over  at  last,  and  Mr.  Kidd  led  the  way  over  London 

34 


Friends  in  Need 

Bridge  a  yard  or  two  ahead  of  the  more  phlegmatic 
Mr.  Brown.  Mr.  Gibbs  was  in  his  old  corner  at  the 
"Wheelwright's  Arms,"  and,  instead  of  going  into 
ecstasies  over  the  sum  realized,  hinted  darkly  that  it 
would  have  been  larger  if  he  had  been  allowed  to  have 
had  a  hand  in  it. 

"It'll  'ardly  pay  me  for  my  trouble,"  he  said,  shak- 
ing his  head.  "It's  very  dull  over  'ere  all  alone  by 
myself.  By  the  time  you  two  have  'ad  your  share, 
besides  taking  wot  I  owe  you,  there'll  be  'ardly  any- 
thing left." 

"I'll  talk  to  you  another  time,"  said  Mr.  Kidd, 
regarding  him  fixedly.  "Wot  you've  got  to  do  now 
is  to  come  acrost  the  river  with  us." 

"Whaffor?"   demanded  Mr.  Gibbs. 

"We're  going  to  break  the  joyful  news  to  your  old 
woman  that  you're  alive  afore  she  starts  spending 
money  wot  isn't  hers,"  said  Mr.  Kidd.  "And  we 
want  you  to  be  close  by  in  case  she  don't  believe 
us." 

"Well,  do  it  gentle,  mind,"  said  the  fond  husband. 
"We  don't  want  'er  screaming,  or  anything  o'  that 
sort.  I  know  'er  better  than  wot  you  do,  and  my 
advice  to  you  is  to  go  easy." 

He  walked  along  by  the  side  of  them,  and,  after 
some  demur,  consented,  as  a  further  disguise,  to  put 
on  a  pair  of  spectacles,  for  which  Mr.  Kidd's  wife 

35 


Friends  in  Need 

mother  had  been  hunting  high  and  low  since  eight 
o'clock  that  morning. 

"You  doddle  about  'ere  for  ten  minutes,"  said 
Mr.  Kidd,  as  they  reached  the  Monument,  "and 
then  foller  on.  When  you  pass  a  lamp-post  'old 
your  handkerchief  up  to  your  face.  And  wait  for  us 
at  the  corner  of  your  road  till  we  come  for  you." 

He  went  off  at  a  brisk  pace  with  Mr.  Brown,  a  pace 
moderated  to  one  of  almost  funeral  solemnity  as  they 
approached  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Gibbs.  To  their 
relief  she  was  alone,  and  after  the  usual  amenitie* 
thanked  them  warmly  for  all  they  had  done  for  her. 

"I'd  do  more  than  that  for  pore  Joe,"  said  Mr. 
Brown. 

"They — they  'aven't  found  'im  yet?"  said  the 
widow. 

Mr.  Kidd  shook  his  head.  "My  idea  is  they  won't 
find  'im,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"Went  down  on  the  ebb  tide,"  explained  Mr. 
Brown;  and  spoilt  Mr.  Kidd's  opening. 

"Wherever  he  is  'e's  better  off,"  said  Mrs.  Gibbs. 
"No  more  trouble  about  being  out  o'  work;  no  more 
worry;  no  more  pain.  We've  all  got  to  go  some 
day." 

"Yes,"  began  Mr.  Kidd;   "but " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  wish  'im  back,"  said  Mrs.  Gibbs; 
"that  would  be  sinful." 

36 


Friends  in  Need 

"But  'ow  if  he  wanted  to  come  back  ?"  said  Mr. 
Kidd,  playing  for  an  opening. 

"And  'elp  you  spend  that  money,"  said  Mr, 
Brown,  ignoring  the  scowls  of  his  friend. 

Mrs.  Gibbs  looked  bewildered.  "Spend  the 
money?"  she  began. 

"Suppose,"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  "suppose  he  wasn't 
drownded  after  all  ?  Only  last  night  I  dreamt  he 
was  alive." 

"So  did  I,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"He  was  smiling  at  me,"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  in  a 
tender  voice.  'Bob,'  he  ses,  'go  and  tell  my 
pore  missis  that  I'm  alive,'  he  ses;  'break  it  to  'er 
gentle.'" 

"It's  the  very  words  he  said  to  me  in  my  dream," 
said  Mr.  Brown.  "Bit  strange,  ain't  it?" 

"Very,"  said  Mrs.  Gibbs. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  after  a  pause,  "I 
suppose  you  haven't  been  dreaming  about  'im?" 

"No;   I'm  a  teetotaller,"  said  the  widow. 

The  two  gentlemen  exchanged  glances,  and  Mr.. 
Kidd,  ever  of  an  impulsive  nature,  resolved  to  bring 
matters  to  a  head. 

"Wot  would  you  do  if  Joe  was  to  come  in  'ere  at 
this  door?"  he  asked. 

"Scream  the  house  down,"  said  the  widow,, 
promptly. 

37 


Friends  in  Need 

"Scream — scream  the  'ouse  down?"  said  the  dis- 
tressed Mr.  Kidd. 

Mrs.  Gibbs  nodded.  "I  should  go  screaming, 
raving  mad,"  she  said,  with  conviction. 

"But — but  not  if  'e  was  alive!"    said  Mr.  Kidd. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  driving  at,"  said  Mrs. 
Gibbs.  "Why  don't  you  speak  out  plain  ?  Poor  Joe 
is  drownded,  you  know  that;  you  saw  it  all,  and  yet 
you  come  talking  to  me  about  dreams  and  things." 

Mr.  Kidd  bent  over  her  and  put  his  hand  affection- 
ately on  her  shoulder.  "He  escaped,"  he  said,  in  a 
thrilling  whisper.  "He's  alive  and  well." 

"WHAT?"   said  Mrs.  Gibbs,  starting  back. 

"True  as  I  stand  'ere,"  said  Mr.  Kidd;  "ain't  it, 
George  ?" 

"Truer,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  loyally. 

Mrs.  Gibbs  leaned  back,  gasping.  "Alive!"  she 
said.  "But  'ow?  'Ow  can  he  be?" 

"Don't  make  such  a  noise,"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  earn- 
estly. "Mind,  if  anybody  else  gets  to  'ear  of  it 
you'll  'ave  to  give  that  money  back." 

"I'd  give  more  than  that  to  get  'im  back,"  said 
Mrs.  Gibbs,  wildly.  "I  believe  you're  deceiving 
me." 

"True  as  I  stand  'ere,"  asseverated  the  other. 
"He's  only  a  minute  or  two  off,  and  if  it  wasn't  for 
you  screaming  I'd  go  out  and  fetch  'im  in." 

38 


Friends  in  Need 

"I  won't  scream,'*  said  Mrs.  Gibbs,  "not  if  I 
know  it's  flesh  and  blood.  Oh,  where  is  he  ?  Why 
don't  you  bring  'im  in  ?  Let  me  go  to  'im." 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  with  a  satisfied  smile 
at  Mr.  Brown;  "all  in  good  time.  I'll  go  and  fetch 
'im  now;  but,  mind,  if  you  scream  you'll  spoil 
everything." 

He  bustled  cheerfully  out  of  the  room  and  down- 
stairs, and  Mrs.  Gibbs,  motioning  Mr.  Brown  to 
silence,  stood  by  the  door  with  parted  lips,  waiting. 
Three  or  four  minutes  elapsed. 

'  'Ere  they  come,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  as  footsteps 
sounded  on  the  stairs.     "  Now,  no  screaming,  mind ! " 

Mrs.  Gibbs  drew  back,  and,  to  the  gratification  of 
all  concerned,  did  not  utter  a  sound  as  Mr.  Kidd, 
followed  by  her  husband,  entered  the  room.  She 
stood  looking  expectantly  towards  the  doorway. 

"Where  is  he?"   she  gasped. 

"Eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  in  a  startled  voice.  "Why 
here.  Don't  you  know  'im  ?" 

"  It's  me,  Susan,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh,  I  might  'ave  known  it  was  a  joke,"  cried 
Mrs.  Gibbs,  in  a  faint  voice,  as  she  tottered  to  a 
chair.  "Oh,  'ow  cruel  of  you  to  tell  me  my  pore  Joe 
was  alive!  Oh,  'ow  could  you?" 

"Lor'  lumme,"  said  the  incensed  Mr.  Kidd,  push- 
ing Mr.  Gibbs  forward.  "  Here  he  is.  Same  as  you 

40 


Friends  in  Need 

saw  'im  last,  except  for  'is  whiskers.  Don't  make 
that  sobbing  noise;  people'll  be  coming  in." 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Take  'im  away,"  cried  Mrs. 
Gibbs.  "Go  and  play  your  tricks  with  somebody 
else's  broken  'art." 

"But it's  your  husband,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"Take  'im  away,"  wailed  Mrs.  Gibbs. 

Mr.  Kidd,  grinding  his  teeth,  tried  to  think. 
'  'Ave  you  got  any  marks  on  your  body,  Joe  ?"  he 
inquired. 

"I  ain't  got  a  mark  on  me,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs, 
with  a  satisfied  air,  "or  a  blemish.  My  skin  is  as 
whi " 

"That's  enough  about  your  skin,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Kidd,  rudely. 

"  If  you  ain't  all  of  you  gone  before  I  count  ten," 
said  Mrs.  Gibbs,  in  a  suppressed  voice,  "I'll  scream. 
'Ow  dare  you  come  into  a  respectable  woman's  place 
and  talk  about  your  skins  ?  Are  you  going  ?  One! 
Two!  Three!  Four!  Five!" 

Her  voice  rose  with  each  numeral;  and  Mr.  Gibbs 
himself  led  the  way  downstairs,  and,  followed  by  his 
friends,  slipped  nimbly  round  the  corner. 

"  It's  a  wonder  she  didn't  rouse  the  whole  Jouse,'* 
he  said,  wiping  his  brow  on  his  sleeve;  "and  where 
should  we  ha'  been  then  ?  I  thought  at  the  time  it 
was  a  mistake  you  making  me  'ave  my  whiskers  off, 
but  I  let  you  know  best.  She's  never  seen  me  \\ith- 

41 


Friends  in  Need 

out  'em.     I  'ad  a  remarkable  strong  growth  when  I 
was  quite  a  boy.     While  other  boys  was " 

"Shut— up!"   vociferated  Mr.  Kidd. 

"Sha'n't!"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  defiantly.'  'I've  'ad 
enough  of  being  away  from  my  comfortable  little 
'ome  and  my  wife;  and  I'm  going  to  let  'em  start 
growing  agin  this  very  night.  She'll  never  reckernize 
me  without  'em,  that's  certain." 

"He's  right,  Bob,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  with  con- 
viction. 

"D'ye  mean  to  tell  me  we've  got  to  wait  till  'is 
blasted  whiskers  grow?"  cried  Mr.  Kidd,  almost 
dancing  with  fury.  "And  go  on  keeping  'im  in 
idleness  till  they  do?" 

''You'll  get  it  all  back  out  o'  my  share,"  said  Mr. 
Gibbs,  with  dignity.  "  But  you  can  please  yourself. 
If  you  like  to  call  it  quits  now,  I  don't  mind." 

Mr.  Brown  took  his  seething  friend  aside,  and  con- 
ferred with  him  in  low  but  earnest  tones.  Mr.  Gibbs, 
with  an  indifferent  air,  stood  by  whistling  softly. 

"  *Ow  long  will  they  take  to  grow  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Kidd,  turning  to  him  with  a  growl. 

Mr.  Gibbs  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Can't  say," 
he  replied;  "but  I  should  think  two  or  three  weeks 
would  be  enough  for  'er  to  reckernize  me  by.  If  she 
don't,  we  must  wait  another  week  or  so,  that's  all." 

"Well,  there  won't  be  much  o'  your  share  left, 
mind  that,"  said  Mr.  Kidd,  glowering  at  him. 

42 


Friends  in  Need 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs.  "You  needn't 
keep  reminding  me  of  it." 

They  walked  the  rest  of  the  way  in  silence;  and 
for  the  next  fortnight  Mr.  Gibbs's  friends  paid  nightly 
visits  to  note  the  change  in  his  appearance,  and  grum- 
ble at  its  slowness. 

"We'll  try  and  pull  it  off  to-morrow  night,"  said 
Mr.  Kidd,  at  the  end  of  that  period.  "I'm  fair  sick 
o'  lending  you  money." 

Mr.  Gibbs  shook  his  head  and  spoke  sagely  about 
not  spoiling  the  ship  for  a  ha'porth  o'  tar;  but  Mr. 
Kidd  was  obdurate. 

"There's  enough  for  'er  to  reckernize  you  by," 
he  said,  sternly,  "and  we  don't  want  other  people  to. 
Meet  us  at  the  Monument  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow 
night,  and  we'll  get  it  over." 

"Give  your  orders,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  in  a  nasty 
voice. 

"  Keep  your  'at  well  over  your  eyes,"  commanded 
Mr.  Kidd,  sternly.  "Put  them  spectacles  on  wot  I 
lent  you,  and  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  if  you  tied 
your  face  up  in  a  piece  o'  red  flannel." 

"  I  know  wot  I'm  going  to  do  without  you  telling 
me,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  nodding.  "I'll  bet  you  pots 
round  that  you  don't  either  of  you  reckernize  me  to- 
morrow night." 

The  bet  was  taken  at  once,  and  from  eight  o'clock 
until  ten  minutes  to  nine  the  following  night  Messrs. 

43 


Friends  in  Need 

Kidd  and  Brown  did  their  best  to  win  it.      Then  did 
Mr.  Kidd,  turning  to  Mr.  Brown  in  perplexity,  in- 


"  Cone  !  "  exclaimed  both  gentlemen.     "  Where  ?  " 

quire  with  many  redundant  words  what  it  all  meant. 
"He  must  'ave  gone  on  by  'imself,"   said   Mr. 
Brown.     "We'd  better  go  and  see." 

44 


Friends  in  Need 

In  a  state  of  some  disorder  they  hurried  back  to 
Wapping,  and,  mounting  the  stairs  to  Mrs.  Gibbs's 
room,  found  the  door  fast.  To  their  fervent  and  re- 
peated knocking  there  was  no  answer. 

"Ah,  you  won't  make  her  'ear,"  said  a  woman, 
thrusting  an  untidy  head  over  the  balusters  on  the 
next  landing.  "She's  gone." 

"Gone!"  exclaimed  both  gentlemen.     "Where?" 

"Canada,"  said  the  woman.  "She  went  off  this 
morning." 

Mr.  Kidd  leaned  up  against  the  wall  for  support; 
Mr.  Brown  stood  open-mouthed  and  voiceless. 

"It  was  a  surprise  to  me,"  said  the  woman,  "but 
she  told  me  this  morning  she's  been  getting  ready 
on  the  quiet  for  the  last  fortnight.  Good  spirits  she 
was  in,  too;  laughing  like  anything." 

"Laughing!"  repeated  Mr.  Kidd,  in  a  terrible 
voice. 

The  woman  nodded.  "And  when  I  spoke  about 
it  and  reminded  'er  that  she  'ad  only  just  lost  'er  pore 
husband,  I  thought  she  would  ha'  burst,"  she  said, 
severely.  "She  sat  down  on  that  stair  and  laughed 
till  the  tears  ran  down  'er  face  like  water." 

Mr.  Brown  turned  a  bewildered  face  upon  his  part- 
ner. "Laughing!"  he  said,  slowly.  "Wot  'ad  she 
got  to  laugh  at?" 

"Two— born— fools,"  replied  Mr.  Kidd. 

45 


GOOD  INTENTIONS 


'  Why  was  wimmen  made  ?    Wot  good  are  they  ?  " 


Good  Intentions 

JEALOUSY;  that's  wot  it  is,"  said  the  night- 
watchman,  trying  to  sneer — "pure  jealousy/' 
He  had  left  his  broom  for  a  hurried  half-pint 
at  the  "Bull's  Head" — left  it  leaning  in  a  negligent 
attitude  against  the  warehouse- wall;  now,  lashed  to 
the  top  of  the  crane  at  the  jetty  end,  it  pointed  its 
soiled  bristles  towards  the  evening  sky  and  defied 
capture. 

"And  I  know  who  it  is,  and  why  Vs  done  it,"  he 
continued.  "Fust  and  last,  I  don't  suppose  I  was 
talking  to  the  gal  for  more  than  ten  minutes,  and  'arf 
of  that  was  about  the  weather. 

"I  don't  suppose  anybody  'as  suffered  more  from 
jealousy  than  wot  I  'ave.  Other  people's  jealousy,  I 
mean.  Ever  since  I  was  married  the  missis  has  been 
setting  traps  for  me,  and  asking  people  to  keep  an 
eye  on  me.  I  blacked  one  of  the  eyes  once — like  a 
fool — and  the  chap  it  belonged  to  made  up  a  tale 
about  me  that  I  ain't  lived  down  yet. 

"Years  ago,  when  I  was  out  with  the  missis  one 
evening,  I  saved  a  gal's  life  for  her.  She  slipped  as 
she  was  getting  off  a  bus,  and  I  caught  'er  just  in 
time.  Fine  strapping  gal  she  was,  and  afore  I  could 

49 


Good  Intentions 

get  my  balance  we  'ad  danced  round  and  round  'arf- 
way  acrost  the  road  with  our  arms  round  each  other's 
necks,  and  my  missis  watching  us  from  the  pavement. 
When  we  were  safe,  she  said  the  gal  'adn't  slipped 
at  all;  and,  as  soon  as  the  gal  'ad  got  'er  breath, 
I'm  blest  if  she  didn't  say  so  too. 

"You  can't  argufy  with  jealous  people,  and  you 
can't  shame  'em.  When  I  told  my  missis  once  that 
I  should  never  dream  of  being  jealous  of  her,  instead 
of  up  and  thanking  me  for  it,  she  spoilt  the  best 
frying-pan  we  ever  had.  When  the  widder-woman 
next-door  but  two  and  me  'ad  rheumatics  at  the  same 
time,  she  went  and  asked  the  doctor  whether  it  was 
catching. 

"The  worse  trouble  o'  that  kind  I  ever  got  into  was 
all  through  trying  to  do  somebody  else  a  kindness. 
I  went  out  o*  my  way  to  do  it;  I  wasted  the  whole 
evening  for  the  sake  of  other  people,  and  got  into 
such  trouble  over  it  that  even  now  it  gives  me  the 
cold  shivers  to  think  of. 

"Cap'n  Tarbell  was  the  man  I  tried  to  do  a  good 
turn  to;  a  man  what  used  to  be  master  of  a  ketch 
called  the  Lizzie  and  Annie,  trading  between  'ere  and 
Shoremouth.  'Artful  Jack'  he  used  to  be  called, 
and  if  ever  a  man  deserved  the  name,  he  did.  A 
widder-man  of  about  fifty,  and  as  silly  as  a  boy  of 
fifteen.  He  'ad  been  talking  of  getting  married  agin 

5° 


Good  Intentions 

for  over  ten  years,  and,  thinking  it  was  only  talk,  I 
didn't  give  'im  any  good  advice.  Then  he  told  me 
one  night  that  'e  was  keeping  company  with  a  woman 
named  Lamb,  who  lived  at  a  place  near  Shoremouth. 
When  I  asked  'im  what  she  looked  like,  he  said  that 
she  had  a  good  'art,  and,  knowing  wot  that  meant,  I 
wasn't  at  all  surprised  when  he  told  me  some  time 
arter  that  'e  had  been  a  silly  fool. 

'Well,  if  she's  got  a  good  'art/  I  ses,  'pYaps 
she'll  let  you  go.' 

'Talk  sense,'  he  ses.  'It  ain't  good  enough  for 
that.  Why,  she  worships  the  ground  I  tread  on. 
She  thinks  there  is  nobody  like  me  in  the  whole  wide 
world.' 

'Let's  'ope  she'll  think  so  arter  you're  married,' 
I  ses,  trying  to  cheer  him  up. 

'I'm  not  going  to  get  married,'  he  ses.  'Least- 
ways, not  to  'er.  But  'ow  to  get  out  of  it  without 
breaking  her  'art  and  being  had  up  for  breach  o* 
promise  I  can't  think.  And  if  the  other  one  got  to 
'ear  of  it,  I  should  lose  her  too.' 

;  'Other  one?'    I  ses,  'wot  other  one?' 
"Cap'n  Tarbell  shook  his  'ead  and  smiled  like  a 
silly  gal. 

:  '  She  fell  in  love  with  me  on  top  of  a  bus  in  the 
Mile  End  Road,'  he  ses.  'Love  at  fust  sight  it  was. 
She's  a  widder  lady  with  a  nice  little  'ouse  at  Bow,, 

51 


Good  Intentions 

and  plenty  to  live  on — her  'usband  having  been  a 
builder.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  You  see,  if  I 
married  both  of  'em  it's  sure  to  be  found  out  sooner 
or  later/ 

'You'll  be  found  out  as  it  is,'  I  ses,  *  if  you  ain't 
careful.  I'm  surprised  at  you.' 

'Y'es,'  he  ses,  getting  up  and  walking  backwards 
and  forwards;  'especially  as  Mrs.  Plimmer  is  always 
talking  about  coming  down  to  see  the  ship.  One 
thing  is,  the  crew  won't  give  me  away;  they've  been 
with  me  too  long  for  that.  P'r'aps  you  could  give 
me  a  little  advice,  Bill.' 

"  I  did.  I  talked  to  that  man  for  an  hour  and  a  Jarf, 
and  when  I  'ad  finished  he  said  he  didn't  want  that 
kind  of  advice  at  all.  Wot  'e  wanted  was  for  me  to 
tell  'im  'ow  to  get  rid  of  Miss  Lamb  and  marry  Mrs. 
Plimmer  without  anybody  being  offended  or  having 
their  feelings  hurt. 

"Mrs.  Plimmer  came  down  to  the  ship  the  very 
next  evening.  Fine-looking  woman  she  was,  and, 
wot  with  'er  watch  and  chain  and  di'mond  rings  and 
brooches  and  such-like,  I  should  think  she  must  'ave 
'ad  five  or  six  pounds'  worth  of  Jewell' ry  on  'er. 
She  gave  me  a  very  pleasant  smile,  and  I  gave  'er  one 
back,  and  we  stood  chatting  there  like  old  friends  till 
at  last  she  tore  'erself  away  and  went  on  board  the 
ship. 

52 


Good  Intentions 

"She  came  off  by  and  by  hanging  on  Cap'n  Tar- 
bell's  arm.  The  cap'n  was  dressed  up  in  'is  Sunday 
clothes,  with  one  of  the  cleanest  collars  on  I  'ave  ever 
seen  in  my  life,  and  smoking  a  cigar  that  smelt  like 
an  escape  of  gas.  He  came  back  alone  at  ha'past 
eleven  that  night,  and  'e  told  me  that  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  other  one  down  Shoremouth  way  he  should  be 
the  'appiest  man  on  earth. 

'Mrs.  Plimmer's  only  got  one  fault/  he  ses,  shak- 
ing his  'ead,  'and  that's  jealousy.  If  she  got  to  know 
of  Laura  Lamb,  it  would  be  all  U.P.  It  makes  me 
go  cold  all  over  when  I  think  of  it.  The  only  thing 
is  to  get  married  as  quick  as  I  can;  then  she  can't 
help  'erself.' 

'  It  wouldn't  prevent  the  other  one  making  a 
fuss,  though,'  I  ses. 

'No,'  he  ses,  very  thoughtfully,  'it  wouldn't.  I 
shall  'ave  to  do  something  there,  but  wot,  I  don't 
know/ 

"He  climbed  on  board  like  a  man  with  a  load  on 
his  mind,  and  arter  a  look  at  the  sky  went  below  and 
forgot  both  'is  troubles  in  sleep. 

"Mrs.  Plimmer  came  down  to  the  wharf  every 
time  the  ship  was  up,  arter  that.  Sometimes  she'd 
spend  the  evening  aboard,  and  sometimes  they'd  go 
off  and  spend  it  somewhere  else.  She  'ad  a  fancy  for 
the  cabin,  I  think,  and  the  cap'n  told  me  that  she 

53 


Good  Intentions 

'ad  said  when  they  were  married  she  was  going  to  sail 
with  'im  sometimes. 

'But  it  ain't  for  six  months  yet/  he  ses,  'and  a 
lot  o'  things  might  'appen  to  the  other  one  in  that 
time,  with  luck/ 

"It  was  just  about  a  month  arter  that  that  'e  came 
to  me  one  evening  trembling  all  over.  I  'ad  just 
come  on  dooty,  and  afore  I  could  ask  'im  wot  was 
the  matter  he  'ad  got  me  in  the  'Bull's  Head'  and 
stood  me  three  'arf-pints,  one  arter  the  other. 

'I'm  ruined/  he  ses  in  a  'usky  whisper;  'I'm 
done  for.  Why  was  wimmen  made  ?  Wot  good  are 
they  ?  Fancy  'ow  bright  and  'appy  we  should  all  be 
without  'em.' 

'I  started  to  p'int  out  one  or  two  things  to  'im 
that  he  seemed  to  'ave  forgot,  but  'e  wouldn't  listen. 
He  was  so  excited  that  he  didn't  seem  to  know  wot  'e 
was  doing,  and  arter  he  'ad  got  three  more  'arf-pints 
waiting  for  me,  all  in  a  row  on  the  counter,  I  'ad  to 
ask  'im  whether  he  thought  I  was  there  to  do  con- 
juring tricks,  or  wot?' 

'There  was  a  letter  waiting  for  me  in  the  office/ 
he  ses.  '  From  Miss  Lamb — she's  in  London.  She's 
coming  to  pay  me  a  surprise  visit  this  evening — I 
know  who'll  get  the  surprise.  Mrs.  Plimmer's  com- 
ing too.' 

"I  gave  'im  one  of  my  'arf-pints  and  made  'im 

54 


Good  Intentiens 

drink  it.  He  chucked  the  pot  on  the  floor  when  he 
'ad  done,  in  a  desprit  sort  o*  way,  and  'im  and  the 
landlord  'ad  a  little  breeze  then  that  did  'im  more 
good  than  wot  the  beer  'ad.  When  we  came  out- 
side 'e  seemed  more  contented  with  'imself,  but  he 
shook  his  'ead  and  got  miserable  as  soon  as  we  got  to 
the  wharf  agin. 

'  'S'pose  they  both  come  along  at  the  same  time/ 
he  ses.     'Wot's  to  be  done?' 

"I  shut  the  gate  with  a  bang  and  fastened  the 
wicket.  Then  I  turned  to  'im  with  a  smile. 

'I'm  watchman  'ere,'  I  ses,  'and  I  lets  in  who 
I  thinks  I  will.  This  ain't  a  public  'ighway,'  I  ses; 
'it's  a  wharf.' 

'Bill,'  he  ses,  'you're  a  genius.' 
'If  Miss  Lamb  comes  'ere  asking  arter  you,'  I 
ses,  '  I  shall  say  you've  gone  out  for  the  evening.' 
"  'Wot  about  her  letter?'  he  ses. 
'You  didn't  'ave  it,'  I  ses,  winking  at  'im. 
;  'And  suppose  she  waits  about  outside  for  me, 
and  Mrs.  Plimmer  wants  me  to  take  'er  out?'    he 
ses,  shivering.     'She's  a  fearful  obstinate  woman; 
and  she'd  wait  a  week  for  me.' 

"He  kept  peeping  up  the  road  while  we  talked  it 
over,  and  then  we  both  see  Mrs.  Plimmer  coming 
along.  He  backed  on  to  the  wharf  and  pulled  out 
'is  purse. 

55 


Good  Intentions 

'  Bill,'  he  ses,  gabbling  as  fast  as  'e  could  gabble, 
'here's  five  or  six  shillings.  If  the  other  one  comes 
and  won't  go  away  tell  'er  I've  gone  to  the  Pagoda 
Music-'all  and  you'll  take  'er  to  me,  keep  'er  out  all 
the  evening  some'ow,  if  you  can,  if  she  comes  back 
too  soon  keep  'er  in  the  office/ 

( 'And    wot   about  leaving   the  wharf   and    my 
dooty?'     I  ses,  staring. 

'  I'll  put  Joe  on  to  keep  watch  for  you,'  he  ses, 
pressing  the  money  in  my  'and.  'I  rely  on  you,  Bill, 
and  I'll  never  forget  you.  You  won't  lose  by  it, 
trust  me.' 

"He  nipped  off  and  tumbled  aboard  the  ship  afore 
I  could  say  a  word.  I  just  stood  there  staring  arter 
'im  and  feeling  the  money,  and  afore  I  could  make 
up  my  mind  Mrs.  Plimmer  came  up. 

"I  thought  I  should  never  ha'  got  rid  of  'er.  She 
stood  there  chatting  and  smiling,  and  seemed  to  for- 
get all  about  the  cap'n,  and  every  moment  I  was 
afraid  that  the  other  one  might  come  up.  At  last 
she  went  off,  looking  behind  'er,  to  the  ship,  and  then 
I  went  outside  and  put  my  back  up  agin  the  gate  and 
waited. 

"I  'ad  hardly  been  there  ten  minutes  afore  the 
other  one  came  along.  I  saw  'er  stop  and  speak  to 
a  policeman,  and  then  she  came  straight  over  to  me. 

'  I  want  to  see  Cap'n  Tarbell,'  she  ses. 

56 


Good  Intentions 

"  'Cap'n  Tarbell  ?'  I  ses,  very  slow;  'Cap'n  Tar- 
bell  'as  gone  off  for  the  evening.' 

'' Gone  off!'  she  ses,  staring.    ' But  he  can't  'ave. 
Are  you  sure?' 

:  'Sartain,'  I  ses.    Then  I  'ad  a  bright  idea.    'And 
there's  a  letter  come  for  'im,'  I  ses. 

"  'Oh,  dear!'  she  ses.  'And  I  thought  it  would 
be  in  plenty  of  time.  Well,  I  must  go  on  the  ship 
and  wait  for  'im,  I  suppose.' 

"If  I  'ad  only  let  'er  go  I  should  ha'  saved  myself 
a  lot  o'  trouble,  and  the  man  wot  deserved  it  would 
ha'  got  it.  Instead  o'  that  I  told  'er  about  the  music- 
'all,  and  arter  carrying  on  like  a  silly  gal  o'  seventeen 
and  saying  she  couldn't  think  of  it,  she  gave  way  and 
said  she'd  go  with  me  to  find  'im.  I  was  all  right  so 
far  as  clothes  went  as  it  happened.  Mrs.  Plimmer 
said  once  that  I  got  more  and  more  dressy  every  time 
she  saw  me,  and  my  missis  'ad  said  the  same  thing 
only  in  a  different  way.  I  just  took  a  peep  through 
the  wicket  and  saw  that  Joe  'ad  taken  up  my  dooty, 
and  then  we  set  off. 

"I  said  I  wasn't  quite  sure  which  one  he'd  gone 
to,  but  we'd  try  the  Pagoda  Music-' all  fust,  and  we 
went  there  on  a  bus  from  Aldgate.  It  was  the  fust 
evening  out  I  'ad  'ad  for  years,  and  I  should  'ave 
enjoyed  it  if  it  'adn't  been  for  Miss  Lamb.  Wotever 
Cap'n  Tarbell  could  ha'  seen  in  'er,  I  can't  think. 

57 


Good  Intentions 

She  was  quiet,  and  stupid,  and  bad-tempered.  When 
the  bus-conductor  came  round  for  the  fares  she 
'adn't  got  any  change;  and  when  we  got  to  the  hall 
she  did  such  eggsterrordinary  things  trying  to  find 
'er  pocket  that  I  tried  to  look  as  if  she  didn't  belong 
to  me.  When  she  left  off  she  smiled  and  said  she 
was  farther  off  than  ever,  and  arter  three  or  four 
wot  was  standing  there  'ad  begged  'er  to  have  another 
try,  I  'ad  to  pay  for  the  two. 

"The  'ouse  was  pretty  full  when  we  got  in,  but 
she  didn't  take  no  notice  of  that.  Her  idea  was 
that  she  could  walk  about  all  over  the  place  looking 
for  Cap'n  Tarbell,  and  it  took  three  men  in  buttons 
and  a  policeman  to  persuade  'er  different.  We  were 
pushed  into  a  couple  o'  seats  at  last,  and  then  she 
started  finding  fault  with  me. 

"  *  Where  is  Cap'n  Tarbell  ?'  she  ses.  'Why  don't 
you  find  him?' 

'  I'll  go  and  look  for  'im  in  the  bar  presently,' 
I  ses.  'He's  sure  to  be  there,  arter  a  turn  or 
two.' 

"I  managed  to  keep  'er  quiet  for  'arf  an  hour — 
with  the  'elp  of  the  people  wot  sat  near  us — and  then 
I  'ad  to  go.  I  'ad  a  glass  o'  beer  to  pass  the  time 
away,  and,  while  I  was  drinking  it,  who  should  come 
up  but  the  cook  and  one  of  the  hands  from  the 
Lizzie  and  Annie. 

58 


Good  Intentions 

'We  saw  you,'  ses  the  cook,  winking;  'didn't 
we  Bob  ?' 

'Yes,'  ses  Bob,  shaking  his  silly  'ead;  'but  it 
wasn't  no  surprise  to  me.  I've  'ad  my  eye  on  'im 
for  a  long  time  past.' 

'I  thought  'e  was  married,'  ses  the  cook. 
:  'So  he  is,'  ses  Bob,  'and  to  the  best  wife  in  Lon- 
don.    I  know  where  she  lives.     Mine's  a  bottle  o* 
Bass,'  he  ses,  turning  to  me. 
:  'So's  mine,'  ses  the  cook. 

"I  paid  for  two  bottles  for  'em,  and  arter  that 
they  said  that  they'd  'ave  a  whisky  and  soda  apiece 
just  to  show  as  there  was  no  ill-feeling. 

'It's  very  good,'  ses  Bob,  sipping  his,  'but  it 
wants  a  sixpenny  cigar  to  go  with  it.  It's  been  the 
dream  o'  my  life  to  smoke  a  sixpenny  cigar.' 

'So  it  'as  mine,'  ses  the  cook,  'but  I  don't  sup- 
pose I  ever  shall.' 

"They  both  coughed  arter  that,  and  like  a  good- 
natured  fool  I  stood  'em  a  sixpenny  cigar  apiece,  and 
I  'ad  just  turned  to  go  back  to  my  seat  when  up 
come  two  more  hands  from  the  Lizzie  and  Annie. 

'Halloa,  watchman!'  ses  one  of  'em.  'Why,  I 
thought  you  was  a-taking  care  of  the  wharf.' 

'  He's  got  something  better  than  the  wharf  to 
take  care  of,'  ses  Bob,  grinning. 

' I  know;  we  see  'im,'  ses  the  other  chap.    'We've 
59 


Good  Intentions 

been  watching  'is  goings-on  for  the  last  'arf-hour; 
better  than  a  play  it  was/ 

"  I  stopped  their  mouths  with  a  glass  o'  bitter  each, 
and  went  back  to  my  seat  while  they  was  drinking  it. 
I  told  Miss  Lamb  in  whispers  that  'e  wasn't  there, 
but  I'd  'ave  another  look  for  him  by  and  by.  If 
she'd  ha'  whispered  back  it  would  ha'  been  all  right, 
but  she  wouldn't,  and,  arter  a  most  unpleasant  scene, 
she  walked  out  with  her  'ead  in  the  air  follered  by 
me  with  two  men  in  buttons  and  a  policeman. 

"O*  course,  nothing  would  do  but  she  must  go 
back  to  the  wharf  and  wait  for  Cap'n  Tarbell,  and 
all  the  way  there  I  was  wondering  wot  would  'appen 
if  she  went  on  board  and  found  'im  there  with  Mrs. 
Plimmer.  However,  when  we  got  there  I  persuaded 
'er  to  go  into  the  office  while  I  went  aboard  to  see  if 
I  could  find  out  where  he  was,  and  three  minutes 
arterwards  he  was  standing  with  me  behind  the  gal- 
ley, trembling  all  over  and  patting  me  on  the  back. 

'Keep  'er  in  the  office  a  little  longer,'  he  ses,  in 
a  whisper.  'The  other's  going  soon.  Keep  'er  there 
as  long  as  you  can.' 

'And  suppose  she  sees  you  and  Mrs.  Plimmer 
passing  the  window?'  I  ses. 

"  'That'll  be  all  right;  I'm  going  to  take  'er  to 
the  stairs  in  the  ship's  boat,'  he  ses.  'It's  more 
romantic.' 

60 


Good  Intentions 

"He  gave  me  a  little  punch  in  the  ribs,  playful- 
like,  and,  arter  telling  me  I  was  worth  my  weight  in 
gold-dust,  went  back  to  the  cabin  agin. 

"I  told  Miss  Lamb  that  the  cabin  was  locked  up, 
but  that  Cap'n  Tarbell  was  expected  back  in  about 
'arf-an-hour's  time.  Then  I  found  'er  an  old  news- 
paper and  a  comfortable  chair  and  sat  down  to  wait. 
I  couldn't  go  on  the  wharf  for  fear  she'd  want  to 
come  with  me,  and  I  sat  there  as  patient  as  I  could, 
till  a  little  clicking  noise  made  us  both  start  up  and 
look  at  each  other. 

"  'Wot's  that?'    she  ses,  listening. 

"  'It  sounded,'  I  ses — 'it  sounded  like  somebody 
locking  the  door/ 

"I  went  to  the  door  to  try  it  just  as  somebody 
dashed  past  the  window  with  their  'ead  down.  It 
was  locked  fast,  and  arter  I  had  'ad  a  try  at  it  and 
Miss  Lamb  had  'ad  a  try  at  it,  we  stood  and  looked 
at  each  other  in  surprise. 

"  '  Somebody's  playing  a  joke  on  us/  I  ses. 

"'Joke!'  ses  Miss  Lamb.  'Open  that  door  at 
once.  If  you  don't  open  it  I'll  call  for  the  police.' 

"She  looked  at  the  windows,  but  the  iron  bars 
wot  was  strong  enough  to  keep  the  vans  outside  was 
strong  enough  to  keep  'er  in,  and  then  she  gave  way 
to  such  a  fit  o'  temper  that  I  couldn't  do  nothing 
with  'er. 

61 


Good  Intentions 

'  'Cap'n  Tarbell  can't  be  long  now/   I    ses,  as 
soon  as  I  could  get  a  word  in.     'We  shall  get  out 


as  soon  as  'e  comes/ 


"She  flung  'erself  down  in  the  chair  agin  with  'er 
back  to  me,  and  for  nearly  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
we  sat  there  without  a  word.  Then,  to  our  joy, 
we  'card  footsteps  turn  in  at  the  gate.  Quick  foot- 
steps they  was.  Somebody  turned  the  handle  of 
the  door,  and  then  a  face  looked  in  at  the  window 
that  made  me  nearly  jump  out  of  my  boots  in  sur- 
prise. A  face  that  was  as  white  as  chalk  with  tem- 
per, and  a  bonnet  cocked  over  one  eye  with  walking 
fast.  She  shook  'er  fist  at  me,  and  then  she  shook 
it  at  Miss  Lamb. 

"  'Who's  that?'   ses  Miss  Lamb. 

'My  missis,'  I  ses,  in  a  loud  voice.  'Thank 
goodness  she's  come.' 

1  'Open  the  door!9   ses  my  missis,  with  a  screech. 
'OPEN  THE  DOOR!' 

'  I  can't/  I  ses.  'Somebody's  locked  it.  This 
is  Cap'n  Tarbell's  young  lady.' 

Til  Cap'n  Tarbell  'er  when  I  get  in!'  ses  my 
wife.  'You  too.  I'll  music-'all  you!  I'll  learn  you 
to  go  gallivanting  about!  Open  the  door!' 

"She  walked  up  and  down  the  alley-way  in  front 
of  the  window  waiting  for  me  just  like  a  lion  walking 
up  and  down  its  cage  waiting  for  its  dinner,  and  I 

62 


Good  Intentions 

made  up  my  mind  then  and  there  that  I  should  'ave 
to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  and  let  Cap'n  Tarbell 
get  out  of  it  the  best  way  he  could.  I  wasn't  going 
to  suffer  for  him. 

; '  Ow  long  my  missis  walked  up  and  down  there 
I  don't  know.  It  seemed  ages  to  me;  but  at  last 
I  'eard  footsteps  and  voices,  and  Bob  and  the  cook 
and  the  other  two  chaps  wot  we  'ad  met  at  the  music- 
'all  came  along  and  stood  grinning  in  at  the  window. 

r  'Somebody's  locked  us  in,'  I  ses.  'Go  and  fetch 
Cap'n  Tarbell.' 

'  Cap'n  Tarbell  ? '  ses  the  cook.  '  You  don't  want 
to  see  'im.  Why,  he's  the  last  man  in  the  world  you 
ought  to  want  to  see !  You  don't  know  'ow  jealous 
he  is.' 

'You  go  and  fetch  'im,  I  ses.  f  'Ow  dare  you 
talk  like  that  afore  my  wife!' 

: '  I  dursen't  take  the  responserbility,'  ses  the  cook. 
'It  might  mean  bloodshed.' 

'You  go  and  fetch  'im/  ses  my  missis.  'Never 
mind  about  the  bloodshed.  I  don't.  Open  the  door!9 
"She  started  banging  on  the  door  agin,  and  arter 
talking  among  themselves  for  a  time  they  moved  off 
to  the  ship.  They  came  back  in  three  or  four  minutes, 
and  the  cook  'eld  up  something  in  front  of  the  win- 
dow. 

'The  boy  'ad  got  it,'  he  ses.     'Now  shall  I  open 

63 


Good  Intentions 

the  door  and  let  your  missis  in,  or  would  you  rather 
stay  where  you  are  in  peace  and  quietness  ?' 

"I  saw  my  missis  jump  at  the  key,  and  Bob  and 
the  others,  laughing  fit  to  split  their  sides,  'olding  her 
back.  Then  I  heard  a  shout,  and  the  next  moment 
Cap'n  Tarbell  came  up  and  asked  'em  wot  the  trouble 
was  about. 

"They  all  started  talking  at  once,  and  then  the 
cap'n,  arter  one  look  in  at  the  window,  threw  up  his 
'ands  and  staggered  back  as  if  'e  couldn't  believe  his 
eyesight.  He  stood  dazed-like  for  a  second  or  two, 
and  then  'e  took  the  key  out  of  the  cook's  'and, 
opened  the  door,  and  walked  in.  The  four  men  was 
close  be'ind  'im,  and,  do  all  she  could,  my  missis 
couldn't  get  in  front  of  'em. 

'Watchman!'  he  ses,  in  a  stuck-up  voice,  'wot 
does  this  mean?  Laura  Lamb!  wot  'ave  you  got 
to  say  for  yourself?  Where  'ave  you  been  all  the 
evening  ? ' 

;  'She's  been  to  a  music-' all  with  Bill,'  ses  the  cook. 
'We  saw  'em.' 

'WoT?'  ses  the  cap'n,  falling  back  again.  'It 
can't  be!' 

'  It  was  them,'  ses  my  wife.  'A  little  boy  brought 
me  a  note  telling  me.  You  let  me  go;  it's  my  hus- 
band, and  I  want  to  talk  to  'im.' 

' '  It's  all  right/  I  ses,  waving  my  'and  at  Miss 
64 


Good  Intentions 

Lamb,  wot  was  going  to  speak,  and  smiling  at  my 
missis,  wot  was  trying  to  get  at  me. 

'We  went  to  look  for  you/  ses  Miss  Lamb,  very 
quick.     'He  said  you  were  at  the  music-'all,  and  as 
you  'adn't  got  my  letter  I  thought  it  was  very  likely/ 
:  *  But  I  did  get  your  letter/  ses  the  cap'n. 
;  'He  said  you  didn't/  ses  Miss  Lamb. 
:  'Look  'ere/  I  ses.     'Why  don't  you  keep  quiet 
and  let  me  explain  ?     I  can  explain  everything/ 

'  'I'm  glad  o*  that,  for  your  sake,  my  man/  ses 
the  cap'n,  looking  at  me  very  hard.  'I  'ope  you  will 
be  able  to  explain  'ow  it  was  you  came  to  leave  the 
wharf  for  three  hours.' 

"I  saw  it  all  then.  If  I  split  about  Mrs.  Plimmer, 
he'd  split  to  the  guv'nor  about  my  leaving  my  dooty, 
and  I  should  get  the  sack.  I  thought  I  should  ha* 
choked,  and,  judging  by  the  way  they  banged  me  on 
the  back,  Bob  and  the  cook  thought  so  too.  They 
'elped  me  to  a  chair  when  I  got  better,  and  I  sat  there 
'elpless  while  the  cap'n  went  on  talking. 

'I'm  no  mischief-maker/  he  ses;  'and,  besides, 
p'r'aps  he's  been  punished  enough.  And  as  far  as 
I'm  concerned  he  can  take  this  lady  to  a  music-' all 
every  night  of  the  week  if  'e  likes.  I've  done  with 
her/ 

"There  was  an  eggsterrordinary  noise  from  where 
my  missis  was  standing;  like  the  gurgling  water 

66 


Good  Intentions 

makes  sometimes  running  down  the  kitchen  sink  at 
'ome,  only  worse.  Then  they  all  started  talking  to- 
gether, and  'arf-a-dozen  times  or  more  Miss  Lamb 
called  me  to  back  'er  up  in  wot  she  was  saying,  but 
I  only  shook  my  'ead,  and  at  last,  arter  tossing  her 
'ead  at  Cap'n  Tarbell  and  telling  'im  she  wouldn't 
'ave  'im  if  he'd  got  fifty  million  a  year,  the  five  of 
'em  'eld  my  missis  while  she  went  off. 

"They  gave  'er  ten  minutes'  start,  and  then  Cap'n 
Tarbell,  arter  looking  at  me  and  shaking  his  'ead, 
said  he  was  afraid  they  must  be  going. 

'  'And  I  'ope  this  night'll  be  a  lesson  to  you/  he 
ses.  'Don't  neglect  your  dooty  again.  I  shall  keep 
my  eye  on  you,  and  if  you  be'ave  yourself  I  sha'n't 
say  anything.  Why,  for  all  you  know  or  could  ha* 
done  the  wharf  might  ha*  been  burnt  to  the  ground 
while  you  was  away!' 

"He  nodded  to  his  crew,  and  they  all  walked  out 
laughing  and  left  me  alone — with  the  missis." 


FAIRY  GOLD 


© 


Mr.  Chase,  with  his  friend  in  his  powerful  grasp,  was  doing  his  best, 
as  he  expressed  it,  to  shake  the  life  out  of  him 


Fairy  Gold 


and  have  a  pint  and  talk  it  over,"  said 
Mr.  Augustus  Teak.  "  I've  got  reasons  in 
my  'ead  that  you  don't  dream  of,  Alf." 

Mr.  Chase  grunted  and  stole  a  side-glance  at  the 
small  figure  of  his  companion.  "All  brains,  you  are, 
Gussie,"  he  remarked.  "That's  why  it  is  you're  so 
well  off." 

"Come  and  have  a  pint,"  repeated  the  other,  and 
with  surprising  ease  pushed  his  bulky  friend  into  the 
bar  of  the  "Ship  and  Anchor."  Mr.  Chase,  mel- 
lowed by  a  long  draught,  placed  his  mug  on  the 
counter  and  eyeing  him  kindly,  said — 

"I've  been  in  my  lodgings  thirteen  years." 

"I  know,"  said  Mr.  Teak;  "but  I've  got  a  par- 
tikler  reason  for  wanting  you.  Our  lodger,  Mr. 
Dunn,  left  last  week,  and  I  only  thought  of  you  yes- 
terday. I  mentioned  you  to  my  missis,  and  she  was 
quite  pleased.  You  see,  she  knows  I've  known  you 
for  over  twenty  years,  and  she  wants  to  make  sure  of 
only  'aving  honest  people  in  the  'ouse.  She  has  got 
a  reason  for  it." 

He  closed  one  eye  and  nodded  with  great  signifi- 
cance at  his  friend. 

71 


Fairy  Gold 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Chase,  waiting. 

"She's  a  rich  woman,"  said  Mr.  Teak,  pulling  the 
other's  ear  down  to  his  mouth.  "She " 

"When  you've  done  tickling  me  with  your  whis- 
kers," said  Mr.  Chase,  withdrawing  his  head  and 
rubbing  his  ear  vigorously,  "I  shall  be  glad." 

Mr.  Teak  apologized.  "A  rich  woman,"  he  re- 
peated. "She's  been  stinting  me  for  twenty-nine 
years  and  saving  the  money — my  money! — money 
that  I  'ave  earned  with  the  sweat  of  my  brow.  She 
'as  got  over  three  'undred  pounds!" 

"  'Ow  much  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Chase. 

"  Three  'undred  pounds  and  more,"  repeated  the 
other;  "and  if  she  had  'ad  the  sense  to  put  it  in  a 
bank  it  would  ha'  been  over  four  'undred  by  this 
time.  Instead  o'  that  she  keeps  it  hid  in  the 
'ouse." 

"Where?"  inquired  the  greatly  interested  Mr. 
Chase. 

Mr.  Teak  shook  his  head.  "That's  just  what  I 
want  to  find  out,"  he  answered.  "She  don't  know 
I  know  it;  and  she  mustn't  know,  either.  That's 
important." 

"How  did  you  find  out  about  it,  then  ?"  inquired 
his  friend. 

"My  wife's  sister's  husLand,  Bert  Adams,  told  me. 
His  wife  told  'im  in  strict  confidence;  and  I  might 

72 


Fairy  Gold 

'ave  gone  to  my  grave  without  knowing  about  it.  only 
she  smacked  his  face  for  'im  the  other  night/' 

"  If  it's  in  the  house  you  ought  to  be  able  to  find 
it  easy  enough,"  said  Mr.  Chase. 

"Yes,  it's  all  very  well  to  talk,"  retorted  Mr. 
Teak.  "My  missis  never  leaves  the  'ouse  unless 
I'm  with  her,  except  when  I'm  at  work;  and  if  she 
thought  I  knew  of  it  she'd  take  and  put  it  in  some 
bank  or  somewhere  unbeknown  to  me,  and  I  should 
be  farther  off  it  than  ever." 

"Haven't  you  got  no  idea?"    said  Mr.  Chase. 

"Not  the  leastest  bit,"  said  the  other.  "I  never 
thought  for  a  moment  she  was  saving  money.  She's 
always  asking  me  for  more,  for  one  thing;  but,  then 
women  alway  do.  And  look  'ow  bad  it  is  for  her — 
saving  money  like  that  on  the  sly.  She  might  grow 
into  a  miser,  pore  thing.  For  'er  own  sake  I  ought 
to  get  hold  of  it,  if  it's  only  to  save  her  from  'erself." 

Mr.  Chase's  face  reflected  the  gravity  of  his  own. 

"  You're  the  only  man  I  can  trust,"  continued  Mr. 
Teak,  "and  I  thought  if  you  came  as  lodger  you 
might  be  able  to  find  out  where  it  is  hid,  and  get  hold 
of  it  for  me." 

"Me  steal  it,  d'ye  mean  ?"  demanded  the  gaping 
Mr.  Chase.  "And  suppose  she  got  me  locked  up  for 
it?  I  should  look  pretty,  shouldn't  I?" 

"No;  you  find  out  where  it  is  hid,"  said  the  other; 

73 


Fairy  Gold 

"that's  all  you  need  do.  I'll  find  some  way  of  getting 
hold  of  it  then." 

"But  if  you  can't  find  it,  how  should  I  be  able  to  ?" 
inquired  Mr.  Chase. 

"  'Cos  you'll  'ave  opportunities,"  said  the  other. 
"  I  take  her  out  some  time  when  you're  supposed  to 
be  out  late;  you  come  'ome,  let  yourself  in  with  your 
key,  and  spot  the  hiding-place.  I  get  the  cash,  and 
give  you  ten — golden — sovereigns — all  to  your  little 
self.  It  only  occurred  to  me  after  Bert  told  me  about 
it,  that  I  ain't  been  in  the  house  alone  for  years." 

He  ordered  some  more  beer,  and,  drawing  Mr. 
Chase  to  a  bench,  sat  down  to  a  long  and  steady  argu- 
ment. It  shook  his  faith  in  human  nature  to  find 
that  his  friend  estimated  the  affair  as  a  twenty-pound 
job,  but  he  was  in  no  position  to  bargain.  They 
came  out  smoking  twopenny  cigars  whose  strength 
was  remarkable  for  their  age,  and  before  they  parted 
Mr.  Chase  was  pledged  to  the  hilt  to  do  all  that  he 
could  to  save  Mrs.  Teak  from  the  vice  of  avarice. 

It  was  a  more  difficult  undertaking  than  he  had 
supposed.  The  house,  small  and  compact,  seemed 
to  offer  few  opportunities  for  the  concealment  of  large 
sums  of  money,  and  after  a  fortnight's  residence  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  treasure  must  have 
been  hidden  in  the  garden.  The  unalloyed  pleasure, 
however,  with  which  Mrs.  Teak  regarded  the  efforts 

74 


Fairy  Gold 

of  her  husband  to  put  under  cultivation  land  that 
had  lain  fallow  for  twenty  years  convinced  both 
men  that  they  were  on  a  wrong  scent.  Mr.  Teak, 
who  did  the  digging,  was  the  first  to  realize  it,  but  his 
friend,  pointing  out  the  suspicions  that  might  be  en- 
gendered by  a  sudden  cessation  of  labour,  induced  him 
to  persevere. 

"And  try  and  look  as  if  you  liked  it/'  he  said, 
severely.  "Why,  from  the  window  even  the  back 
view  of  you  looks  disagreeable." 

"I'm  fair  sick  of  it,"  declared  Mr.  Teak.  "Any- 
body might  ha*  known  she  wouldn't  have  buried  it 
in  the  garden.  She  must  'ave  been  saving  for  pretty 
near  thirty  years,  week  by  week,  and  she  couldn't 
keep  coming  out  here  to  hide  it.  'Tain't  likely." 

Mr.  Chase  pondered.  "Let  her  know,  casual  like, 
that  I  sha'n't  be  'ome  till  late  on  Saturday,"  he  said, 
slowly.  "Then  you  come  'ome  in  the  afternoon  and 
take  her  out.  As  soon  as  you're  gone  I'll  pop  in  and 
have  a  thorough  good  hunt  round.  Is  she  fond  of 
animals  ?" 

"I  b'lieve  so,"  said  the  other,  staring.     "Why?" 

"Take  'er  to  the  Zoo,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  impres- 
sively. "Take  two-penn'orth  o*  nuts  with  you  for 
the  monkeys,  and  some  stale  buns  for — for — for  ani- 
mals as  likes  'em.  Give  'er  a  ride  on  the  elephant 
and  a  ride  on  the  camel." 

75 


Fairy  Gold 

"Anything  else  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Teak  disagree- 
ably. "Any  more  ways  you  can  think  of  for  me  to 
spend  my  money?" 

"You  do  as  I  tell  you,"  said  his  friend.  "I've 
got  an  idea  now  where  it  is.  If  I'm  able  to  show  you 
where  to  put  your  finger  on  three  'undred  pounds 
when  you  come  'ome  it'll  be  the  cheapest  outing  you 
have  ever  'ad.  Won't  it?" 

Mr.  Teak  made  no  reply,  but,  after  spending  the 
evening  in  deliberation,  issued  the  invitation  at  the 
supper-table.  His  wife's  eyes  sparkled  at  first;  then 
the  light  slowly  faded  from  them  and  her  face  fell. 

"I  cant  go,"  she  said,  at  last.  "I've  got  nothing 
to  go  in." 

"Rubbish!"    said  her  husband,  starting  uneasily. 

"It's  a  fact,"  said  Mrs.  Teak.  "I  should  like  to 
go,  too — it's  years  since  I  was  at  the  Zoo.  I  might 
make  my  jacket  do;  it's  my  hat  I'm  thinking  about." 

Mr.  Chase,  meeting  Mr.  Teak's  eye,  winked  an 
obvious  suggestion. 

"So,  thanking  you  all  the  same,"  continued  Mrs. 
Teak,  with  amiable  cheerfulness,  "I'll  stay  at  *ome." 

"'Ow — 'ow  much  are  they?"  growled  her  hus- 
band, scowling  at  Mr.  Chase. 

"All  prices,"  replied  his  wife. 

,   "Yes,  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Teak,  in  a  grating  voice. 
"You  go  in  to  buy  a  hat  at  one  and  eleven-pence; 


Fairy  Gold 

you  get  talked  over  and  flattered  by  a  man  like  a 
barber's  block,  and  you  come  out  with  a  four-and- 
six  penny  one.  The  only  real  difference  in  hats  is 
the  price,  but  women  can  never  see  it." 

Mrs.  Teak  smiled  faintly,  and  again  expressed 
her  willingness  to  stay  at  home.  They  could  spend 
the  afternoon  working  in  the  garden,  she  said.  Her 
husband,  with  another  indignant  glance  at  the  right 
eye  of  Mr.  Chase,  which  was  still  enacting  the  part 
of  a  camera-shutter,  said  that  she  could  have  a  hat, 
but  asked  her  to  remember  when  buying  it  that 
nothing  suited  her  so  well  as  a  plain  one. 

The  remainder  of  the  week  passed  away  slowly; 
and  Mr.  Teak,  despite  his  utmost  efforts,  was  un- 
able to  glean  any  information  from  Mr.  Chase  as  to 
that  gentleman's  ideas  concerning  the  hiding-place. 
At  every  suggestion  Mr.  Chase's  smile  only  got 
broader  and  more  indulgent. 

"You  leave  it  to  me,"  he  said.  "You  leave  it  to 
me,  and  when  you  come  home  from  a  happy  outing 
I  'ope  to  be  able  to  cross  your  little  hand  with  three 
'undred  golden  quids." 

"But  why  not  tell  me?"  urged  Mr.  Teak. 

"Cos  I  want  to  surprise  you,"  was  the  reply. 
"But  mind,  whatever  you  do,  don't  let  your  wife 
run  away  with  the  idea  that  I've  been  mixed  up  in 
it  at  all.  Now,  if  you  worry  me  any  more  I  shall 

77  ' 


Fairy  Gold 

ask  you  to  make  it  thirty  pounds  for  me  instead  of 
twenty." 

['•  The  two  friends  parted  at  the  corner  of  the  road 
on  Saturday  afternoon,  and  Mr.  Teak,  conscious  of 
his  friend's  impatience,  sought  to  hurry  his  wife  by 
occasionally  calling  the  wrong  time  up  the  stairs. 
She  came  down  at  last,  smiling,  in  a  plain  hat  with 
three  roses,  two  bows,  and  a  feather. 

"Fve  had  the  feather  for  years,"  she  remarked. 
"This  is  the  fourth  hat  it  has  been  on — but,  then, 
I've  taken  care  of  it." 

Mr.  Teak  grunted,  and,  opening  the  door,  ushered 
her  into  the  street.  A  sense  of  adventure,  and  the 
hope  of  a  profitable  afternoon  made  his  spirits  rise. 
He  paid  a  compliment  to  the  hat,  and  then,  to  the 
surprise  of  both,  followed  it  up  with  another — a  very 
little  one — to  his  wife. 

They  took  a  tram  at  the  end  of  the  street,  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  air  mounted  to  the  top.  Mrs.  Teak 
leaned  back  in  her  seat  with  placid  enjoyment,  and 
for  the  first  ten  minutes  amused  herself  with  the  life 
in  the  streets.  Then  she  turned  suddenly  to  her 
husband  and  declared  that  she  had  felt  a  spot  of 
rain. 

'"Magination,"  he  said,  shortly. 

Something  cold  touched  him  lightly  on  the  eyelid, 
a  tiny  pattering  sounded  from  the  seats,  and  then — 

78 


Fairy  Gold 

swish,  down  came  the  rain.  With  an  angry  exclama- 
tion he  sprang  up  and  followed  his  wife  below. 

"Just  our  luck/'  she  said,  mournfully.  "Best 
thing  we  can  do  is  to  stay  in  the  car  and  go  back 
with  it." 

"Nonsense!"  said  her  husband,  in  a  startled 
voice;  "it'll  be  over  in  a  minute." 

Events  proved  the  contrary.  By  the  time  the  car 
reached  the  terminus  it  was  coming  down  heavily. 
Mrs.  Teak  settled  herself  squarely  in  her  seat,  and 
patches  of  blue  sky,  visible  only  to  the  eye  of  faith 
and  her  husband,  failed  to  move  her.  Even  his 
reckless  reference  to  a  cab  failed. 

"It's  no  good,"  she  said,  tartly.  "We  can't  go 
about  the  grounds  in  a  cab,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
slop  about  in  the  wet  to  please  anybody.  We  must 
go  another  time.  It's  hard  luck,  but  there's  worse 
things  in  life." 

Mr.  Teak,  wondering  as  to  the  operations  of  Mr. 
Chase,  agreed  dumbly.  He  stopped  the  car  at  the 
corner  of  their  road,  and,  holding  his  head  down 
against  the  rain,  sprinted  towards  home.  Mrs.  Teak, 
anxious  for  her  hat,  passed  him. 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter?"  she  inquired, 
fumbling  in  her  pocket  for  the  key  as  her  husband 
executed  a  clumsy  but  noisy  breakdown  on  the  front 
step. 

79 


"  What  on  earth's  the  matter  ?  "  she  inquired 


Fairy  Gold 

"Chill,"  replied  Mr.  Teak.     "I've  got  wet." 

He  resumed  his  lumberings  and,  the  door  being 
opened,  gave  vent  to  his  relief  at  being  home  again 
in  the  dry,  in  a  voice  that  made  the  windows  rattle. 
Then  with  anxious  eyes  he  watched  his  wife  pass 
upstairs 

"Wonder  what  excuse  old  Alf'll  make  for  being 
in?"  he  thought. 

He  stood  with  one  foot  on  the  bottom  stair,  listen- 
ing acutely.  He  heard  a  door  open  above,  and  then 
a  wild,  ear  splitting  shriek  rang  through  the  house. 
Instinctively  he  dashed  upstairs  and,  following  his 
wife  into  their  bedroom,  stood  by  her  side  gaping 
stupidly  at  a  pair  of  legs  standing  on  the  hearth- 
stone. As  he  watched  they  came  backwards  into 
the  room,  the  upper  part  of  a  body  materialized  from 
the  chimney,  and  turning  round  revealed  the  soot- 
stained  face  of  Mr.  Alfred  Chase.  Another  wild 
shriek  from  Mrs.  Teak  greeted  its  appearance. 

"Hul-lo!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Teak,  groping  for  the 
right  thing  to  say.  "Hul-lo!  What — what  are  you 
doing,  Alf  ?" 

Mr.  Chase  blew  the  soot  from  his  lips.  "I — I — 
I  come  'ome  unexpected,"  he  stammered. 

"But — what  are — you  doing?"  panted  Mrs.  Teak, 
in  a  rising  voice. 

"I — I  was  passing  your  door,"  said  Mr.  Chase, 

81 


Fairy  Gold 

"passing  your  door — to  go  to  my  room  to — to  'ave  a 
bit  of  a  rinse,  when " 

"Yes/'  said  Mrs.  Teak. 

Mr.  Chase  gave  Mr.  Teak  a  glance  the  pathos  of 
which  even  the  soot  could  not  conceal.  "When  I — 
I  heard  a  pore  little  bird  struggling  in  your  chimbley," 
he  continued,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Being  fond  of 
animals,  I  took  the  liberty  of  comin'  into  your  room 
and  saving  its  life." 

Mr.  Teak  drew  a  breath,  which  he  endeavoured 
in  vain  to  render  noiseless. 

"It  got  its  pore  little  foot  caught  in  the  brick- 
work," continued  the  veracious  Mr.  Chase,  tenderly. 
"I  released  it,  and  it  flowed — I  mean  flew — up  the 
chimbley." 

With  the  shamefaced  air  of  a  man  detected  in  the 
performance  of  a  noble  action,  he  passed  out  of  the 
room.  Husband  and  wife  eyed  each  other. 

"That's  Alf— that's  Alf  all  over,"  said  Mr.  Teak, 
with  enthusiasm.  "He's  been  like  it  from  a  child. 
He's  the  sort  of  man  that  'ud  dive  off  Waterloo 
Bridge  to  save  the  life  of  a  drownding  sparrow." 

"He's  made  an  awful  mess,"  said  his  wife,  frown- 
ing; "it'll  take  me  the  rest  of  the  day  to  clean  up. 
There's  soot  everywhere.  The  rug  is  quite  spoilt." 

She  took  off  her  hat  and  jacket  and  prepared  for 
fray.  Down  below  Messrs.  Teak  and  Chase, 
82 


Fairy  Gold 

comparing  notes,  sought,  with  much  warmth,  to  put 
the  blame  on  the  right  shoulders. 

"Well,  it  ain't  there,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  finally. 
"I've  made  sure  of  that.  That's  something  towards 
it.  I  shan't  'ave  to  look  there  again,  thank  good- 
ness." 

Mr.  Teak  sniffed.  "Got  any  more  ideas?"  he 
queried. 

"I  have,"  said  the  other  sternly.  "There's  plenty 
of  places  to  search  yet.  I've  only  just  begun.  Get 
her  out  as  much  as  you  can  and  I'll  'ave  my  hands 
on  it  afore  you  can  say " 

"Soot?"  suggested  Mr.  Teak,  sourly. 

"Any  more  of  your  nasty  snacks  and  I  chuck  it 
up  altogether,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  heatedly.  "If  I 
wasn't  hard  up  I'd  drop  it  now." 

He  went  up  to  his  room  in  dudgeon,  and  for  the 
next  few  days  Mr.  Teak  saw  but  little  of  him.  To 
lure  Mrs.  Teak  out  was  almost  as  difficult  as  to  per- 
suade a  snail  to  leave  its  shell,  but  he  succeeded  on 
two  or  three  occasions,  and  each  time  she  added 
something  to  her  wardrobe. 

The  assistant  fortune-hunter  had  been  in  residence 
just  a  month  when  Mr.  Teak,  returning  home  one 
afternoon,  stood  in  the  small  passage  listening  to  a 
suppressed  wailing  noise  proceeding  from  upstairs. 
It  was  so  creepy  that  half-way  up  he  hesitated,  and, 

83 


Fairy  Gold 

in  a  stern  but  trembling  voice,  demanded  to  know 
what  his  wife  meant  by  it.  A  louder  wail  than  before 
was  the  only  reply,  and,  summoning  up  his  courage, 
he  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  bedroom  and  peeped 
in.  His  gaze  fell  on  Mrs.  Teak,  who  was  sitting  on 
the  hearth-rug,  rocking  to  and  fro  in  front  of  a  dis- 
mantled fire-place. 

"What — what's  the  matter?"  he  said,  hastily. 

Mrs.  Teak  raised  her  voice  to  a  pitch  that  set  his 
teeth  on  edge.  "My  money!"  she  wailed.  "It's  all 
gone!  All  gone!" 

"Money?"  repeated  Mr.  Teak,  hardly  able  to  con- 
tain himself.  "What  money?" 

"All — all  my  savings!"  moaned  his  wife. 

"Savings!"  said  the  delighted  Mr.  Teak.  "What 
savings  ?" 

"Money  I  have  been  putting  by  for  our  old  age," 
said  his  wife.  "  Three  hundred  and  twenty-two 
pounds.  All  gone!" 

In  a  fit  of  sudden  generosity  Mr.  Teak  decided 
then  and  there  that  Mr.  Chase  should  have  the  odd 
twenty-two  pounds. 

"You're  dreaming!"  he  said,  sternly. 

"I  wish  I  was,"  said  his  wife,  wiping  her  eyes. 
"Three  hundred  and  twenty-two  pounds  in  empty 
mustard-tins.  Every  ha'penny's  gone!" 

Mr.  Teak's  eye  fell  on  the  stove.     He  stepped  for- 


Fairy  Gold 

ward  and  examined  it.  The  back  was  out,  and  Mrs. 
Teak,  calling  his  attention  to  a  tunnel  at  the  side, 
implored  him  to  put  his  arm  in  and  satisfy  himself 
that  it  was  empty. 

"But  where  could  you  get  all  that  money  from?" 
he  demanded,  after  a  prolonged  groping. 

"Sa — sa — saved  it,"  sobbed  his  wife,  "for  our  old 
age." 

"Our  old  age  ?"  repeated  Mr.  Teak,  in  lofty  tones. 
"And  suppose  I  had  died  first?  Or  suppose  you 
had  died  sudden  ?  This  is  what  comes  of  deceit- 
fulness  and  keeping  things  from  your  husband.  Now 
somebody  has  stole  it." 

Mrs.  Teak  bent  her  head  and  sobbed  again.  "I 
— I  had  just  been  out  for — for  an  hour,"  she  gasped. 
"When  I  came  back  I  fou — fou — found  the  wash- 
house  window  smashed,  and " 

Sobs  choked  her  utterance.  Mr.  Teak,  lost  in 
admiration  of  Mr.  Chase's  cleverness,  stood  regard- 
ing her  in  silence. 

"What — what  about  the  police?"  said  his  wife  at 
last. 

"Police!"  repeated  Mr.  Teak,  with  extraordinary 
vehemence.  "Police!"  Certainly  not.  D'ye  think 
I'm  going  to  let  it  be  known  all  round  that  I'm  the 
husband  of  a  miser  ?  I'd  sooner  lose  ten  times  the 
money." 

85 


Fairy  Gold 

He  stalked  solemnly  out  of  the  room  and  down- 
stairs, and,  safe  in  the  parlour,  gave  vent  to  his  feel- 
ings in  a  wild  but  silent  hornpipe.  He  cannoned 
against  the  table  at  last,  and,  subsiding  into  an  easy- 
chair,  crammed  his  handkerchief  to  his  mouth  and 
gave  way  to  suppressed  mirth. 

In  his  excitement  he  forgot  all  about  tea,  and  the 
bereaved  Mrs.  Teak  made  no  attempt  to  come  down- 
stairs to  prepare  it.  With  his  eye  on  the  clock  he 
waited  with  what  patience  he  might  for  the  arrival 
of  Mr.  Chase.  The  usual  hour  for  his  return  came 
and  went.  Another  hour  passed;  and  another.  A 
horrible  idea  that  Mr.  Chase  had  been  robbed  gave 
way  to  one  more  horrible  still.  He  paced  the  room  in 
dismay,  until  at  nine  o'clock  his  wife  came  down,  and 
in  a  languid  fashion  began  to  set  the  supper-table. 

"Alf's  very  late,"  said  Mr.  Teak,  thickly. 

"Is  he?"  said  his  wife,  dully. 

"Very  late,"  said  Mr.  Teak.     "I  can't  think 

Ah,  there  he  is!" 

He  took  a  deep  breath  and  clenched  his  hands  to- 
gether. By  the  time  Mr.  Chase  came  into  the  room 
he  was  able  to  greet  him  with  a  stealthy  wink.  Mr. 
Chase,  with  a  humorous  twist  of  his  mouth,  winked 
back. 

"We've  'ad  a  upset,"  said  Mr.  Teak,  in  warning 
tones. 

86 


Fairy  Gold 

"Eh?"  said  the  other,  as  Mrs.  Teak  threw  her 
apron  over  her  head  and  sank  into  a  chair.  "What 
about?" 

In  bated  accents,  interrupted  at  times  by  broken 
murmurs  from  his  wife,  Mr.  Teak  informed  him  of 
the  robbery.  Mr.  Chase,  leaning  against  the  door- 
post, listened  with  open  mouth  and  distended  eye- 
balls. Occasional  interjections  of  pity  and  surprise 
attested  his  interest.  The  tale  finished,  the  gentle- 
men exchanged  a  significant  wink  and  sighed  in 
unison. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Teak  an  hour  later,  after 
his  wife  had  retired,  "where  is  it?" 

"Ah,  that's  the  question,"  said  Mr.  Chase, 
roguishly.  "I  wonder  where  it  can  be?" 

"I — I  hope  it's  in  a  safe  place,"  said  Mr.  Teak, 
anxiously.  "Where  'ave  you  put  it?" 

"Me?"  said  Mr.  Chase.  "Who  are  you  getting 
at  ?  I  ain't  put  it  anywhere.  You  know  that." 

"Don't  play  the  giddy  goat,"  said  the  other,  testily. 
"Where've  you  hid  it  ?  Is  it  safe  ?" 

Mr.  Chase  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and,  shaking 
his  head  at  him,  smiled  approvingly.  "You're  a 
little  wonder,  that's  what  you  are,  Gussie,"  he  re- 
marked. "No  wonder  your  pore  wife  is  took  in  so 
easy." 

Mr.  Teak  sprang  up  in  a  fury.     "Don't  play  the 

87 


Fairy  Gold 

fool,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Where's  the  money?  I 
want  it.  Now,  where5 ve  you  put  it?" 

"Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  with  a  chuckle.  "Go 
on.  Don't  mind  me.  You  ought  to  be  on  the  stage, 
Gussie,  that's  where  you  ought  to  be." 

"I'm  not  joking,"  said  Mr.  Teak,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  "and  I  don't  want  you  to  joke  with  me.  If 
you  think  you  are  going  off  with  my  money,  you're 
mistook.  If  you  don't  tell  me  in  two  minutes  where 
it  is,  I  shall  give  you  in  charge  for  theft." 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Chase.  He  took  a  deep  breath. 
"Oh,  really!"  he  said.  "I  wouldn't  'ave  thought  it 
of  you,  Gussie.  I  wouldn't  'ave  thought  you'd  have 
played  it  so  low  down.  I'm  surprised  at  you." 

"You  thought  wrong,  then,"  said  the  other. 

"Trying  to  do  me  out  o'  my  twenty  pounds,  that's 
what  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  knitting  his  brows. 
"  But  it  won't  do,  my  boy.  I  wasn't  born  yesterday. 
Hand  it  over,  afore  I  lose  my  temper.  Twenty 
pounds  I  want  of  you,  and  I  don't  leave  this  room 
till  I  get  it." 

Speechless  with  fury,  Mr.  Teak  struck  at  him. 
The  next  moment  the  supper-table  was  overturned 
with  a  crash,  and  Mr.  Chase,  with  his  friend  in  his 
powerful  grasp,  was  doing  his  best,  as  he  expressed 
it,  to  shake  the  life  out  of  him.  A  faint  scream 
sounded  from  above,  steps  pattered  on  the  stairs, 


Fairy  Gold 

and  Mrs.  Teak,  with  a  red  shawl  round  her  shoulders, 
burst  hurriedly  into  the  room.  Mr.  Chase  released 
Mr.  Teak,  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  and  then, 
thinking  better  of  it,  dashed  into  the  passage,  took 
his  hat  from  the  peg,  and,  slamming  the  front  door 
with  extraordinary  violence,  departed. 

He  sent  round  for  his  clothes  next  day,  but  he 
did  not  see  Mr.  Teak  until  a  month  afterwards. 
His  fists  clenched  and  his  mouth  hardened,  but  Mr. 
Teak,  with  a  pathetic  smile,  held  out  his  hand,  and 
Mr.  Chase,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  took  it. 
Mr.  Teak,  still  holding  his  friend's  hand,  piloted 
him  to  a  neighbouring  hostelry. 

"It  was  my  mistake,  Alf,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head,  "but  it  wasn't  my  fault.  It's  a  mistake  any- 
body might  ha*  made." 

"Have  you  found  out  who  took  it?"  inquired  Mr. 
Chase,  regarding  him  suspiciously. 

Mr.  Teak  gulped  and  nodded.  "I  met  Bert 
Adams  yesterday,"  he  said,  slowly.  "It  took  three 
pints  afore  he  told  me,  but  I  got  it  out  of  'im  at  last. 
My  missis  took  it  herself." 

Mr.  Chase  put  his  mug  down  with  a  bang. 
"What?"  he  gasped. 

"The  day  after  she  found  you  with  your  head  up 
the  chimbley,"  added  Mr.  Teak,  mournfully.  "She's 


Fairy  Gold 

shoved  it  away  in  some  bank  now,  and  I  shall  never 
see  a  ha'penny  of  it.  If  you  was  a  married  man, 
Alf,  you'd  understand  it  better.  You  wouldn't  be 
surprised  at  anything." 


WATCH-DOGS 


"As  I  was  a-saying,  kindness  to  animals  is  all  very  well 


Watch-Dogs 

IT'S  a* most  the  only  enj'yment  I've  got  left," 
said  the  oldest  inhabitant,  taking  a  long,  slow 
draught  of  beer,  "that  and  a  pipe  o'  baccy. 
Neither  of  'em  wants  chewing,  and  that's  a  great 
thing  when  you  ain't  got  anything  worth  speaking 
about  left  to  chew  with." 

He  put  his  mug  on  the  table  and,  ignoring  the 
stillness  of  the  summer  air,  sheltered  the  flame  of  a 
match  between  his  cupped  hands  and  conveyed  it 
with  infinite  care  to  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  A  dull  but 
crafty  old  eye  squinting  down  the  stem  assured  itself 
that  the  tobacco  was  well  alight  before  the  match 
was  thrown  away. 

"As  I  was  a-saying,  kindness  to  animals  is  all 
very  well,"  he  said  to  the  wayfarer  who  sat  opposite 
him  in  the  shade  of  the  "Cauliflower"  elms;  "but 
kindness  to  your  feller-creeturs  is  more.  The  pint 
wot  you  give  me  is  gone,  but  I'm  just  as  thankful  to 
you  as  if  it  wasn't." 

He  half  closed  his  eyes  and,  gazing  on  to  the 
fields  beyond,  fell  into  a  reverie  so  deep  that  he 
failed  to  observe  the  landlord  come  for  his  mug  and 
return  with  it  filled.  A  little  start  attested  his  sur- 

93 


Watch-Dogs 

prise,  and,  to  his  great  annoyance,  upset  a  couple  of 
tablespoonfuls  of  the  precious  liquid. 

"Some  people  waste  all  their  kindness  on  dumb 
animals/'  he  remarked,  after  the  landlord  had  with- 
drawn from  his  offended  vision,  "but  I  was  never  a 
believer  in  it.  I  mind  some  time  ago  when  a  gen'le- 
men  from  Lunnon  wot  'ad  more  money  than  sense 
offered  a  prize  for  kindness  to  animals.  I  was  the 
only  one  that  didn't  try  for  to  win  it. 

"Mr.  Bunnett  'is  name  was,  and  'e  come  down 
and  took  Farmer  Hall's  'ouse  for  the  summer.  Over 
sixty  'e  was,  and  old  enough  to  know  better.  He 
used  to  put  saucers  of  milk  all  round  the  'ouse  for 
cats  to  drink,  and,  by  the  time  pore  Farmer  Hall  got 
back,  every  cat  for  three  miles  round  'ad  got  in  the 
habit  of  coming  round  to  the  back-door  and  ask- 
ing for  milk  as  if  it  was  their  right.  Farmer  Hall 
poisoned  a  saucer  o*  milk  at  last,  and  then  'ad  to  pay 
five  shillings  for  a  thin  black  cat  with  a  mangy  tail 
and  one  eye  that  Bob  Pretty  said  belonged  to  'is 
children.  Farmer  Hall  said  he'd  go  to  jail  afore 
he'd  pay,  at  fust,  but  arter  five  men  'ad  spoke  the 
truth  and  said  they  'ad  see  Bob's  youngsters  tying  a 
empty  mustard-tin  to  its  tail  on'y  the  day  afore,  he 
gave  way. 

"That  was  Bob  Pretty  all  over,  that  was;  the 
biggest  raskel  Claybury  'as  ever  had;  and  it  wasn't 

94 


Watch-Dogs 

the  fust  bit  o*  money  'e  made  out  o'  Mr.  Bunnett 
coming  to  the  place. 

"It  all  come  through  Mr.  Bunnett's  love  for 
animals.  I  never  see  a  man  so  fond  of  animals  as 
'e  was,  and  if  he  had  'ad  'is  way  Claybury  would 
'ave  been  overrun  by  'em  by  this  time.  The  day 
arter  'e  got  to  the  farm  he  couldn't  eat  'is  breakfuss 
because  of  a  pig  that  was  being  killed  in  the  yard, 
and  it  was  no  good  pointing  out  to  'im  that  the  pig 
was  on'y  making  a  fuss  about  it  because  it  was  its 
nature  so  to  do.  He  lived  on  wegetables  and  such 
like,  and  the  way  'e  carried  on  one  day  over  'arf  a 
biled  caterpillar  'e  found  in  his  cabbage  wouldn't  be 
believed.  He  wouldn't  eat  another  mossel,  but  sat 
hunting  'igh  and  low  for  the  other  'arf. 

"He  'adn't  been  in  Claybury  more  than  a  week 
afore  he  said  'ow  surprised  'e  was  to  see  'ow  pore 
dumb  animals  was  treated.  He  made  a  little  speech 
about  it  one  evening  up  at  the  schoolroom,  and,  arter 
he  'ad  finished,  he  up  and  offered  to  give  a  prize  of 
a  gold  watch  that  used  to  belong  to  'is  dear  sister 
wot  loved  animals,  to  the  one  wot  was  the  kindest  to 
'em  afore  he  left  the  place. 

"If  he'd  ha'  known  Claybury  men  better  'e 
wouldn't  ha*  done  it.  The  very  next  morning  Bill 
Chambers  took  'is  baby's  milk  for  the  cat,  and 
smacked  'is  wife's  'ead  for  talking  arter  he'd  told  'er 

95 


Watch-Dogs 

to  stop.  Henery  Walker  got  into  trouble  for  lean- 
ing over  Charlie  Stubbs's  fence  and  feeding  his 
chickens  for  'im,  and  Sam  Jones's  wife  had  to  run 
off  'ome  to  'er  mother  'arf-dressed  because  she  had 
'appened  to  overlay  a  sick  rabbit  wot  Sam  'ad  taken 
to  bed  with  'im  to  keep  warm. 

"People  used  to  stop  animals  in  the  road  and  try 
and  do  'em  a  kindness — especially  when  Mr.  Bun- 
nett  was  passing — and  Peter  Gubbins  walked  past  'is 
house  one  day  with  ole  Mrs.  Broad's  cat  in  'is  arms. 
A  bad-tempered  old  cat  it  was,  and,  wot  with  Peter 
kissing  the  top  of  its  'ead  and  calling  of  it  Tiddleums, 
it  nearly  went  out  of  its  mind. 

"The  fust  time  Mr.  Bunnett  see  Bob  Pretty  was 
about  a  week  arter  he'd  offered  that  gold  watch. 
Bob  was  stooping  down  very  careful  over  something 
in  the  hedge,  and  Mr.  Bunnett,  going  up  quiet-like 
behind  'im,  see  'im  messing  about  with  a  pore  old 
toad  he  'ad  found,  with  a  smashed  leg. 

"  'Wot's  the  matter  with  it?'  ses  Mr.  Bunnett. 

"Bob  didn't  seem  to  hear  'im.  He  was  a-kneel- 
ing  on  the  ground  with  'is  'ead  on  one  side  looking 
at  the  toad;  and  by  and  by  he  pulled  out  'is  pocket- 
'an'kercher  and  put  the  toad  in  it,  as  if  it  was  made 
of  egg-shells,  and  walked  away. 

*  Wot's  the   matter  with   it?'   ses   Mr.  Bunnett, 
a* most  trotting  to  keep  up  with  'im. 


Watch-Dogs 

"  'Got  it's  leg  'urt  in  some  way,  pore  thing/  ses 
Bob.  'I  want  to  get  it  'ome  as  soon  as  I  can  and 
wash  it  and  put  it  on  a  piece  o'  damp  moss.  But 
I'm  afraid  it's  not  long  for  this  world/ 

"Mr.  Bunnett  said  it  did  'im  credit,  and  walked 
home  alongside  of  'im  talking.  He  was  surprised  to 
find  that  Bob  hadn't  'card  anything  of  the  gold  watch 
'e  was  offering,  but  Bob  said  he  was  a  busy,  'ard- 
working  man  and  didn't  'ave  no  time  to  go  to  hear 
speeches  or  listen  to  tittle-tattle. 

'When  I've  done  my  day's  work/  he  ses,  'I  can 
always  find  a  job  in  the  garden,  and  arter  that  I  go 
in  and  *elp  my  missis  put  the  children  to  bed.  She 
ain't  strong,  pore  thing,  and  it's  better  than  wasting 
time  and  money  up  at  the  "Cauliflower." 

"He  'ad  a  lot  o'  talk  with  Mr.  Bunnett  for  the 
next  day  or  two,  and  when  'e  went  round  with  the 
toad  on  the  third  day  as  lively  and  well  as  pos- 
sible the  old  gen'leman  said  it  was  a  miracle. 
And  so  it  would  ha'  been  if  it  had  been  the  same 
toad. 

"He  took  a  great  fancy  to  Bob  Pretty,  and  some- 
how or  other  they  was  always  dropping  acrost  each 
other.  He  met  Bob  with  'is  dog  one  day — a  large, 
ugly  brute,  but  a'most  as  clever  as  wot  Bob  was 
'imself.  It  stood  there  with  its  tongue  'anging  out 
and  looking  at  Bob  uneasy-like  out  of  the  corner  of 

97 


Watch-Dogs 

its  eye  as  Bob  stood  a-patting  of  it  and  calling  it  pet 
names. 

"Wunnerful  affectionate  old  dog,  ain't  you,  Jo- 
seph ?'  ses  Bob. 

"He's  got  a  kind  eye,'  ses  Mr.  Bunnett. 

"He's  like  another  child  to  me,  ain't  you,  my 
pretty?'  ses  Bob,  smiling  at  'im  and  feeling  in  'is 
pocket.  'Here  you  are,  old  chap.' 

"He  threw  down  a  biskit  so  sudden  that  Joseph, 
thinking  it  was  a  stone,  went  off  like  a  streak  o* 
lightning  with  'is  tail  between  'is  legs  and  yelping 
his  'ardest.  Most  men  would  ha'  looked  a  bit  fool- 
ish, but  Bob  Pretty  didn't  turn  a  hair. 

:  'Ain't  it  wunnerful  the  sense  they've  got/  he  ses 
to  Mr.  Bunnett,  wot  was  still  staring  arter  the  dog. 
"  'Sense?'  ses  the  old  gen'leman. 

'Yes/  ses  Bob  smiling.  'His  food  ain't  been 
agreeing  with  'im  lately  and  he's  starving  hisself  for 
a  bit  to  get  round  agin,  and  'e  knew  that  'e  couldn't 
trust  hisself  alongside  o'  this  biskit.  Wot  a  pity  men 
ain't  like  that  with  beer.  I  wish  as  'ow  Bill  Cham- 
bers and  Henery  Walker  and  a  few  more  'ad  been 
'ere  just  now.' 

"Mr.  Bunnett  agreed  with  'im,  and  said  wot  a  pity 
it  was  everybody  'adn't  got  Bob  Pretty's  common- 
sense  and  good  feeling. 

;  'It  ain't  that/  ses  Bob,  shaking  his  'ead  at  him; 


Watch-Dogs 

'it  ain't  to  my  credit.  I  dessay  if  Sam  Jones  and 
Peter  Gubbins,  and  Charlie  Stubbs  and  Dicky  Weed 
'ad  been  brought  up  the  same  as  I  was  they'd  'ave 
been  a  lot  better  than  wot  I  am/ 

"He  bid  Mr.  Bunnett  good-bye  becos  'e  said  he'd 
got  to  get  back  to  'is  work,  and  Mr.  Bunnett  had 
'ardly  got  'ome  afore  Henery  Walker  turned  up  full  of 
anxiousness  to  ask  his  advice  about  five  little  baby 
kittens  wot  'is  old  cat  had  found  in  the  wash-place 
the  night  afore. 

'Drownd  them  little  innercent  things,  same  as 
most  would  do,  I  can't,'  he  ses,  shaking  his  'ead;  'but 
wot  to  do  with  'em  I  don't  know.' 

''Couldn't  you  find  'omes  for  'em?'    ses  Mr. 
Bunnett. 

"Henery  Walker  shook  his  'ead  agin.  'Tain't  no 
use  thinking  o'  that,'  he  ses.  'There's  more  cats  than 
'omes  about  'ere'  Why,  Bill  Chambers  drownded  six 
o'ny  last  week  right  afore  the  eyes  of  my  pore  little 
boy.  Upset  'im  dreadful  it  did.' 

"Mr.  Bunnett  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
thinking.  *We  must  try  and  find  'omes  for  'em 
when  they  are  old  enough,'  he  says  at  last;  Til  go 
round  myself  and  see  wot  /  can  do  for  you.' 

"Henery  Walker  thanked  'im  and  went  off  'ome 
doing  a  bit  o'  thinking;  and  well  he  'ad  reason  to. 
Everybody  wanted  one  o'  them  kittens.  Peter  Gub- 

99 


Watch-Dogs 

bins  offered  for  to  take  two,  and  Mr.  Bunnett  told 
Henery  Walker  next  day  that  'e  could  ha'  found  'omes 
for  'em  ten  times  over. 

'You've  no  idea  wot  fine,  kind-'arted  people  they 
are  in  this  village  when  their  'arts  are  touched/  he 
ses,  smiling  at  Henery.  'You  ought  to  'ave  seen  Mr. 
Jones's  smile  when  I  asked  'im  to  take  one.  It  did 
me  good  to  see  it.  And  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Chambers 
about  drowning  'is  kittens,  and  he  told  me  'e  hadn't 
slept  a  wink  ever  since.  And  he  offered  to  take  your 
old  cat  to  make  up  for  it,  if  you  was  tired  of  keeping 
it/ 

"It  was  very  'ard  on  Henery  Walker,  I  must  say 
that.  Other  people  was  getting  the  credit  of  bring- 
ing up  'is  kittens,  and  more  than  that,  they  used  to 
ask  Mr.  Bunnett  into  their  places  to  see  'ow  the 
little  dears  was  a-getting  on. 

"Kindness  to  animals  caused  more  unpleasant- 
ness in  Claybury  than  anything  'ad  ever  done  afore. 
There  was  hardly  a  man  as  'ud  speak  civil  to  each 
other,  and  the  wimmen  was  a' most  as  bad.  Cats 
and  dogs  and  such-like  began  to  act  as  if  the  pl?ce 
belonged  to  'em,  and  seven  people  stopped  Mr.  Bun- 
nett one  day  to  tell  'im  that  Joe  Parsons  'ad  been 
putting  down  rat-poison  and  killed  five  little  baby 
rats  and  their  mother. 

'''It  was  some  time  afore  anybody  knew  that  Bob 
100 


Watch-Dogs 

Pretty  5ad  got  'is  eye  on  that  gold  watch,  and  when 
they  did  they  could  'ardly  believe  it.  They  give  Bob 
credit  for  too  much  sense  to  waste  time  over  wot  they 
knew  'e  couldn't  get,  but  arter  they  'ad  heard  one 
or  two  things  they  got  alarmed,  and  pretty  near  the 
whole  village  went  up  to  see  Mr.  Bunnett  and  tell 
'im  about  Bob's  true  character.  Mr.  Bunnett 
couldn't  believe  'em  at  fust,  but  arter  they  'ad  told 
'im  of  Bob's  poaching  and  the  artful  ways  and  tricks 
he  'ad  of  getting  money  as  didn't  belong  to  'im  'e 
began  to  think  different.  He  spoke  to  parson  about 
'im,  and  arter  that  'e  said  he  never  wanted  for  to 
see  Bob  Pretty's  face  again. 

r<  There  was  a  fine  to-do  about  it  up  at  this  'ere 
Cauliflower  public-'ouse  that  night,  and  the  quietest 
man  'o  the  whole  lot  was  Bob  Pretty.  He  sat  still 
all  the  time  drinking  'is  beer  and  smiling  at  'em  and 
giving  'em  good  advice  *ow  to  get  that  gold  watch. 

'It's  no  good  to  me,'  he  ses,  shaking  his  'ead. 
'I'm  a  pore  labourin'  man,  and  I  know  my  place.' 

'  'Ow  you  could  ever  'ave  thought  you  'ad  a 
chance,  Bob,  7  don't  know,'  ses  Henery  Walker. 

"Ow's  the  toad,  Bob?'  ses  Bill  Chambers;  and 
then  they  all  laughed. 

'Laugh  away,  mates/  ses  Bob;  'I  know  you 
don't  mean  it.  The  on'y  thing  I'm  sorry  for  is  you 
can't  all  'ave  the  gold  watch,  and  I'm  sure  you've 

101 


Watch-Dogs 

worked  'ard  enough  for  it;  keeping  Henery  Walker's 
kittens  for  'im,  and  hanging  round  Mr.  Bunnett's.' 

'We've  all  got  a  better  chance  than  wot  you  'ave, 
Bob/  ses  little  Dicky  Weed  the  tailor. 


"The  quietest  man  o'  the  whole  lot  was  Bob  Pretty  " 

"  'Ah,  that's  your  iggernerance,  Dicky,'  ses  Bob. 
'Come  to  think  it  over  quiet  like,  I'm  afraid  I  shall 
win  it  arter  all.  Cos  why  ?  Cos  I  deserves  it.' 

"They  all  laughed  agin,  and  Bill  Chambers  laughed 
so  'arty  that  'e  joggled  Peter  Gubbins's  arm  and 
upset  'is  beer. 

102 


Watch-Dogs 

'Laugh  away/  ses  Bob,  pretending  to  get  savage. 
'Them  that  laughs  best  laughs  last,  mind.  I'll  'ave 
that  watch  now,  just  to  spite  you  all.' 

'  'Ow  are  you  going  to  get  it,  Bob?'  ses  Sam 
Jones,  jeering. 

f  'Never  you  mind,  mate,'  ses  Bob,  stamping  'is 
foot;  'I'm  going  to  win  it  fair.  I'm  going  to  'ave 
it  for  kindness  to  pore  dumb  animals.' 

""Ear!  'ear!'  ses  Dicky  Weed,  winking  at  the 
others.  'Will  you  'ave  a  bet  on  it,  Bob  ?' 

"  'No,'  ses  Bob  Pretty;  'I  don't  want  to  win  no 
man's  money.  I  like  to  earn  my  money  in  the  sweat 
o'  my  brow/ 

'  But  you  won't  win  it,  Bob,'  ses  Dicky,  grinning. 
'Look  'ere!  I'll  lay  you  a  level  bob  you  don't  get 


it.' 


"Bob  shook  his  'ead,  and  started  talking  to  Bill 
Chambers  about  something  else. 

"  '  I'll  bet  you  two  bob  to  one,  Bob,'  ses  Dicky. 
'Well,  three  to  one,  then.' 

"  Bob  sat  up  and  looked  at  'im  for  a  long  time,  con- 
sidering, and  at  last  he  ses,  'All  right,'  he  ses,  '  if 
Smith  the  landlord  will  mind  the  money  I  will.' 

"He  'anded  over  his  shilling,'  but  very  slow-like, 
and  Dicky  Weed  'anded  over  'is  money.  Arter  that 
Bob  sat  looking  disagreeable  like,  especially  when 
Dicky  said  wot  'e  was  goin*  to  do  with  the  money, 


Watch-Dogs 

and  by  an  by  Sam  Jones  dared  'im  to  'ave  the  same 
bet  with  'im  in  sixpences. 

"Bob  Pretty  'ad  a  pint  more  beer  to  think  it  over, 
and  arter  Bill  Chambers  'ad  stood  'im  another,  he  said 
'e  would.  He  seemed  a  bit  dazed  like,  and  by  the 
time  he  went  'ome  he  'ad  made  bets  with  thirteen  of 
'em.  Being  Saturday  night  they  'ad  all  got  money 
on  'em,  and,  as  for  Bob,  he  always  'ad  some.  Smith 
took  care  of  the  money  and  wrote  it  all  up  on  a 
slate. 

"  'Why  don't  you  'ave  a  bit  on,  Mr.  Smith  ?'  ses 
Dicky. 

:  'Oh,  I  dunno/  ses  Smith,  wiping  down  the  bar 
with  a  wet  cloth. 

'It's  the  chance  of  a  lifetime,'  ses  Dicky. 
'Looks  like  it,'  ses  Smith,  coughing. 
'  But  'e  can't  win,'  ses  Sam  Jones,  looking  a  bit 
upset.     'Why,    Mr.    Bunnett   said   'e   ought   to    be 
locked  up/ 

'He's  been  led  away/  ses  Bob  Pretty,  shaking 
his  'ead.     'He's  a  kind-'arted  old  gen'leman  when 
Vs  left  alone,  and  he'll  soon  see  wot  a  mistake  Vs 
made  about  me.     I'll  show  'im.     But  I  wish  it  was 
something  more  useful  than  a  gold  watch/ 
"  'You  ain't  got  it  yet,'  ses  Bill  Chambers. 
"  'No,  mate,'  ses  Bob. 

s  'And  you  stand  to  lose  a  sight  o*  money/  ses 
104 


Watch- Dogs 

Sam  Jones.     'If  you  like,  Bob  Pretty,  you  can  'ave 
your  bet  back  with  me/ 

"  'Never  mind,  Sam/  ses  Bob;   'I  won't  take  no 


"  Some  of  'em  went  and  told  Mr.  Bunnett  some  more  things  about 
Bob  next  day  " 

advantage  of  you.     If  I  lose  you'll  'ave  sixpence  to 
buy  a  rabbit-hutch  with.     Good-night,  mates  all/ 

"He  rumpled  Bill  Chambers's  'air  for  'im  as  he 
passed — a  thing   Bill   never   can   abear — and   gave 

105 


Watch-Dogs 

Henery  Walker,  wot  was  drinking  beer,  a  smack  on 
the  back  wot  nearly  ruined  'im  for  life. 

"Some  of  'em  went  and  told  Mr.  Bunnett  some 
more  things  about  Bob  next  day,  but  they  might  as 
well  ha*  saved  their  breath.  The  old  gen'leman  said 
he  knew  all  about  'im  and  he  never  wanted  to  'ear 
his  name  mentioned  agin.  Arter  which  they  began 
for  to  'ave  a  more  cheerful  way  of  looking  at  things; 
and  Sam  Jones  said  'e  was  going  to  'ave  a  hole  bored 
through  'is  sixpence  and  wear  it  round  'is  neck  to 
aggravate  Bob  Pretty  with. 

"For  the  next  three  or  four  weeks  Bob  Pretty 
seemed  to  keep  very  quiet,  and  we  all  began  to  think 
as  'ow  he  'ad  made  a  mistake  for  once.  Everybody 
else  was  trying  their  'ardest  for  the  watch,  and  all 
Bob  done  was  to  make  a  laugh  of  'em  and  to  say  he 
believed  it  was  on'y  made  of  brass  arter  all.  Then 
one  arternoon,  just  a  few  days  afore  Mr.  Bunnett's 
time  was  up  at  the  farm,  Bob  took  'is  dog  out  for  a 
walk,  and  arter  watching  the  farm  for  some  time  met 
the  old  gen'leman  by  accident  up  at  Coe's  plantation. 
( 'Good  arternoon,  sir,'  he  ses,  smiling  at  'im. 
'Wot  wunnerful  fine  weather  we're  a-having  for  the 
time  o'  year.  I've  just  brought  Joseph  out  for  a  bit 
of  a  walk.  He  ain't  been  wot  I  might  call  hisself  for 
the  last  day  or  two,  and  I  thought  a  little  fresh  air 
might  do  'im  good.' 

1 06 


Watch-Dogs 

"Mr.  Bunnett  just  looked  at  him,  and  then  Je 
passed  'im  by  without  a  word. 

"  'I  wanted  to  ask  your  advice  about  'im,'  ses  Bob, 
turning  round  and  fbllering  of  'im.  'He's  a  delikit 
animal,  and  sometimes  I  wonder  whether  I  'aven't 
been  a-pampering  of  'im  too  much.' 

"  'Go  away,'  ses  Mr.  Bunnett;  'I've  'card  all  about 
you.  Go  away  at  once.' 

'Heard  all  about  me?'  ses  Bob  Pretty,  looking 
puzzled.  'Well,  you  can't 'ave  heard  no 'arm,  that's 
one  comfort.' 

'I've  been  told  your  true  character,'  ses  the  old 
gen'leman,  very  firm.  'And  I'm  ashamed  that  I 
should  have  let  myself  be  deceived  by  you.  I  hope 
you'll  try  and  do  better  while  there  is  still  time/ 

'If  anybody  'as  got  anything  to  say  agin  my 
character,'  says  Bob,  'I  wish  as  they'd  say  it  to  my 
face.  I'm  a  pore,  hard-working  man,  and  my  char- 
acter's all  I've  got.' 

'You're  poorer  than  you  thought  you  was  then/ 
says  Mr.  Bunnett.  'I  wish  you  good  arternoon.' 

:  'Good  arternoon,  sir,'  ses  Bob,  very  humble. 
'I'm  afraid  some  on  'em  'ave  been  telling  lies  about 
me,  and  I  didn't  think  I'd  got  a  enemy  in  the  world. 
Come  on,  Joseph.  Come  on,  old  pal.  We  ain't 
wanted  here.' 

"He  shook  'is  'ead  with  sorrow,  and  made  a  little 
107 


Watch-Dogs 

sucking  noise  between  'is  teeth,  and  afore  you  could 
wink,  his  dog  'ad  laid  hold  of  the  old  gentleman's 
leg  and  kep*  quiet  waiting  orders. 

"'Help!'  screams  Mr.  Bunnett.  'Call,  'im  off! 
Call  'im  off!' 

"Bob  said  arterwards  that  'e  was  foolish  enough  to 
lose  'is  presence  o'  mind  for  a  moment,  and  instead 
o'  doing  anything  he  stood  there  gaping  with  'is 
mouth  open. 

:  'Call  'im  off!'  screams  Mr.  Bunnett,  trying  to 
push  the  dog  away.     'Why  don't  you  call  him  off?' 
'Don't  move,'   ses   Bob   Pretty  in  a  frightened 
voice.     'Don't  move,  wotever  you  do.' 

"  'Call  him  off!  Take  'im  away!'  ses  Mr.  Bun- 
nett. 

'  Why,  Joseph !  Joseph !  Wotever  are  you  a-think- 
ing  of?'  ses  Bob,  shaking  'is  'ead  at  the  dog.  'I'm 
surprised  at  you !  Don't  you  know  Mr.  Bunnett  wot 
is  so  fond  of  animals  ?' 

'If  you  don't  call  'im  off,  ses  Mr.  Bunnett,  trem- 
bling all  over,  'I'll  have  you  locked  up.' 

'I  am  a-calling  'im  off,'  ses  Bob,  looking  very 
puzzled.     'Didn't  you  'ear  me?     It's  you  making 
that  noise  that  excites  'im,  I  think.     P'r'aps  if  you 
keep  quiet  he'll  leave  go.     Come  off,  Joseph,  old 
boy,  there's  a  good  doggie.     That  ain't  a  bone.' 
:'It's  no  good  talking  to  'im  like  that,'  ses  Mr. 
108 


Watch-Dogs 

Bunnett,   keeping  quiet  but  trembling  worse  than 
ever.     'Make  him  let  go/ 

"  'I  don't  want  to  'urt  his  feelings/  ses  Bob; 
'they've  got  their  feelings  the  same  as  wot  we  'ave. 
Besides,  p'r'aps  it  ain't  'is  fault — p'r'aps  he's  gone 
mad.' 

"  'HELP!'  ses  the  old  gen'leman,  in  a  voice  that 
might  ha*  been  heard  a  mile  away.  'HELP!' 

'Why  don't  you  keep  quiet?'  ses  Bob.  *  You're 
on'y  frightening  the  pore  animal  and  making  things 
worse.  Joseph,  leave  go  and  I'll  see  whether  there's 
a  biskit  in  my  pocket.  Why  don't  you  leave  go  ?' 

"  'Pull  him  off.  Hit  'im,'  ses  Mr.  Bunnett,  shout- 
ing. 

"  '  Wot  ?'  ses  Bob  Pretty,  with  a  start.  'Hit  a  poor, 
dumb  animal  wot  don't  know  no  better!  Why,  you'd 
never  forgive  me,  sir,  and  I  should  lose  the  gold  watch 
besides.' 

'No,  you  won't/  ses  Mr.  Bunnett,  speaking  very 
fast.  'You'll  'ave  as  much  chance  of  it  as  ever  you 
had.  Hit'im!  Quick!' 

'It  'ud  break  my  'art/  ses  Bob.  'He'd  never 
forgive  me;  but  if  you'll  take  the  responserbility, 
and  then  go  straight  'ome  and  give  me  the  gold 
watch  now  for  kindness  to  animals,  I  will.' 

"He  shook  his  'ead  with  sorrow  and  made  that 
sucking  noise  agin.' 

109 


Watch- Dogs 

' 'All  right,  you  shall  'ave  it/  ses  Mr.  Bunnett, 
shouting.     'You  shall  'ave  it/ 

:  'For  kindness  to  animals  ?'   ses  Bob.     'Honour 
bright?' 
"  'Yes/  ses  Mr.  Bunnett. 


*'  Bob  Pretty  lifted  'is  foot  and  caught  Joseph  one  behind  that 
surprised  'im  " 

"Bob  Pretty  lifted  'is  foot  and  caught  Joseph  one 
behind  that  surprised  'im.  Then  he  'elped  Mr. 
Bunnett  look  at  'is  leg,  and  arter  pointing  out  that 
the  skin  wasn't  hardly  broken,  and  saying  that 
Joseph  'ad  got  the  best  mouth  of  any  dog  in  Clay- 
bury,  'e  walked  'ome  with  the  old  gen'leman  and 

no 


Watch-Dogs 

got  the  watch.  He  said  Mr.  Bunnett  made  a  little 
speech  when  'e  gave  it  to  'im  wot  he  couldn't  remem- 
ber, and  wot  he  wouldn't  repeat  if  'e  could. 

"He  came  up  to  this  'ere  Cauliflower  public-'ouse 
the  same  night  for  the  money  'e  had  won,  and  Bill 
Chambers  made  another  speech,  but,  as  Smith  the 
landlord  put  'im  outside  for  it,  it  didn't  do  Bob  Pretty 
the  good  it  ought  to  ha*  done.'! 


Ill 


THE  BEQUEST 


'Me?  "  said  the  other,  with  a  gasp.    "  Me  ? " 


The  Bequest 


MR.    ROBERT   CLARKSON   sat   by  his 
fire,   smoking   thoughtfully.     His   lifelong 
neighbour    and    successful    rival    in    love 
had  passed  away  a  few  days  before,  and  Mr.  Clark- 
son,  fresh  from  the  obsequies,   sat  musing  on  the 
fragility  of  man  and  the  inconvenience  that  some- 
times attended  his  departure. 

His  meditations  were  disturbed  by  a  low  knocking 
on  the  front  door,  which  opened  on  to  the  street.  In 
response  to  his  invitation  it  opened  slowly,  and  a 
small  middle-aged  man  of  doleful  aspect  entered 
softly  and  closed  it  behind  him. 

"Evening,  Bob,"  he  said,  in  stricken  accents.  "I 
thought  I'd  just  step  round  to  see  how  you  was  bear- 
ing up.  Fancy  pore  old  Phipps!  Why,  I'd  a' most 
as  soon  it  had  been  me.  A' most." 

Mr.  Clarkson  nodded. 

"Here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow,"  continued  Mr. 
Smithson,  taking  a  seat.  "Well,  well!  So  you'll  have 
her  at  last — pore  thing." 

"That  was  his  wish,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  in  a  dull 
voice. 

"5 


ALFRED  SA.NTEU, 

The  Bequest 

"And  very  generous  of  him  too,"  said  Mr.  Smith- 
son.  "Everybody  is  saying  so.  Certainly  he  couldn't 
take  her  away  with  him.  How  long  is  it  since  you 
was  both  of  you  courting  her?" 

"Thirty  years  come  June,"  replied  the  other. 

"Shows  what  waiting  does,  and  patience,"  com- 
mented Mr.  Smithson.  "If  you'd  been  like  some 
chaps  and  gone  abroad,  where  would  you  have  been 
now?  Where  would  have  been  the  reward  of  your 
faithful  heart?" 

Mr.  Clarkson,  whose  pipe  had  gone  out,  took  a 
coal  from  the  fire  and  lit  it  again. 

"I  can't  understand  him  dying  at  his  age,"  he  said,, 
darkly.  "He  ought  to  have  lived  to  ninety  if  he'd 
been  taken  care  of." 

"Well,  he's  gone,  pore  chap,"  said  his  friend. 
"What  a  blessing  it  must  ha'  been  to  him  in  his  last 
moments  to  think  that  he  had  made  provision  for 
his  wife." 

"  Provision ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Clarkson.  "  Why  he's, 
left  her  nothing  but  the  furniture  and  fifty  pounds 
insurance  money — nothing  in  the  world." 

Mr.  Smithson  fidgeted.  "I  mean  you,"  he  said, 
staring. 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  other.     "  Oh,  yes — yes,  of  course." 

"And  he  doesn't  want  you  to  eat  your  heart  out 
in  waiting,"  said  Mr.  Smithson.  "  *  Never  mind  about 

"7 


The  Bequest 

me/  he  said  to  her;  'you  go  and  make  Bob  happy.' 
Wonderful  pretty  girl  she  used  to  be,  didn't  she  5' 

Mr.  Clarkson  assented. 

"And  I've  no  doubt  she  looks  the  same  to  you  as 
ever  she  did/'  pursued  the  sentimental  Mr.  Smith- 
son.  "That's  the  extraordinary  part  of  it." 

Mr.  Clarkson  turned  and  eyed  him;  removed  the 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  and,  after  hesitating  a  moment, 
replaced  it  with  a  jerk. 

"She  says  she'd  rather  be  faithful  to  his  memory/' 
continued  the  persevering  Mr.  Smithson,  "but  his 
wishes  are  her  law.  She  said  so  to  my  missis  only 
yesterday." 

"Still,  she  ought  to  be  considered/'  said  Mr.  Clark- 
son,  shaking  his  head.  "I  think  that  somebody 
ought  to  put  it  to  her.  She  has  got  her  feelings,  poor 
thing,  and,  if  she  would  rather  not  marry  again,  she 
oughtn't  to  be  compelled  to." 

"Just  what  my  missis  did  say  to  her,"  said  the 
other;  "but  she  didn't  pay  much  attention.  She 
said  it  was  Henry's  wish  and  she  didn't  care  what 
happened  to  her  now  he's  gone.  Besides,  if  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  what  else  is  she  to  do  ?  Don't 
you  worry,  Bob;  you  won't  lose  her  again." 

Mr.  Clarkson,  staring  at  the  fire,  mused  darkly. 
For  thirty  years  he  had  played  the  congenial  part  of 
the  disappointed  admirer  but  faithful  friend.  He 

lit 


The  Bequest 

had  intended  to  play  it  for  at  least  fifty  or  sixty.  He 
wished  that  he  had  had  the  strength  of  mind  to  re- 
fuse the  bequest  when  the  late  Mr.  Phipps  first  men- 
tioned it,  or  taken  a  firmer  line  over  the  congratula- 
tions of  his  friends.  As  it  was,  Little  Molton  quite 
understood  that  after  thirty  years'  waiting  the  faith- 
ful heart  was  to  be  rewarded  at  last.  Public  opinion 
seemed  to  be  that  the  late  Mr.  Phipps  had  behaved 
with  extraordinary  generosity. 

"It's  rather  late  in  life  for  me  to  begin,"  said  Mr. 
Clarkson  at  last. 

"Better  late  than  never,"  said  the  cheerful  Mr. 
Smithson. 

"And  something  seems  to  tell  me  that  I  ain't  long 
for  this  world,"  continued  Mr.  Clarkson,  eyeing  him 
with  some  disfavour. 

"Stuff"  and  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Smithson. 
"You'll  lose  all  them  ideas  as  soon  as  you're  mar- 
ried. You'll  have  somebody  to  look  after  you  and 
help  you  spend  your  money." 

Mr.  Clarkson  emitted  a  dismal  groan,  and  clap- 
ping his  hand  over  his  mouth  strove  to  make  it  pass 
muster  as  a  yawn.  It  was  evident  that  the  mali- 
cious Mr.  Smithson  was  deriving  considerable  pleas- 
ure from  his  discomfiture — the  pleasure  natural  to  the 
father  of  seven  over  the  troubles  of  a  comfortable  bach- 
elor. Mr.  Clarkson,  anxious  to  share  his  troubles 

119 


The  Bequest 

with  somebody,  came  to  a  sudden  and  malicious  de- 
termination to  share  them  with  Mr.  Smithson. 

"I  don't  want  anybody  to  help  me  spend  my 
money,"  he  said,  slowly.  "First  and  last  I've  saved 
a  tidy  bit.  I've  got  this  house,  those  three  cot- 
tages in  Turner's  Lane,  and  pretty  near  six  hundred 
pounds  in  the  bank. 

Mr.  Smithson's  eyes  glistened. 

"  I  had  thought — it  had  occurred  to  me,"  said  Mr. 
Clarkson,  trying  to  keep  as  near  the  truth  as  pos- 
sible, "to  leave  my  property  to  a  friend  o'  mine — a 
hard-working  man  with  a  large  family.  However, 
it's  no  use  talking  about  that  now.  It's  too  late." 

"Who — who  was  it?"  inquired  his  friend,  trying 
to  keep  his  voice  steady. 

Mr.  Clarkson  shook  his  head.  "It's  no  good  talk" 
ing  about  that  now,  George,"  he  said,  eyeing  him  witM 
sly  enjoyment.  "I  shall  have  to  leave  everything  to 
my  wife  now.  After  all,  perhaps  it  does  more  harm 
than  good  to  leave  money  to  people." 

"Rubbish!"  said  Mr.  Smithson,  sharply.  "Who 
was  it?" 

"You,  George,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  softly. 

"Me  ?"  said  the  other,  with  a  gasp.  "Me  ?"  He 
jumped  up  from  his  chair,  and,  seizing  the  other's 
hand,  shook  it  fervently. 

"I  oughtn't  to  have  told  you,  George,"  said  Mr. 
1 20 


The  Bequest 

Clarkson,  with  great  satisfaction.  "It'll  only  make 
you  miserable.  It's  just  one  o'  the  might  ha'  beens." 

Mr.  Smithson,  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and  his 
hands  twisted  behind  him,  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed 
in  thought. 

"  It's  rather  cool  of  Phipps,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
silence;  "rather  cool,  I  think,  to  go  out  of  the  world 
and  just  leave  his  wife  to  you  to  look  after.  Some 
men  wouldn't  stand  it.  You're  too  easy-going,  Bob, 
that's  what's  the  matter  with  you." 

Mr.  Clarkson  sighed. 

"And  get  took  advantage  of,"  added  his  friend. 

"It's  all  very  well  to  talk,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson, 
"but  what  can  I  do  ?  I  ought  to  have  spoke  up  at 
the  time.  It's  too  late  now." 

"If  I  was  you,"  said  his  friend  very  earnestly, 
"and  didn't  want  to  marry  her,  I  should  tell  her  so. 
Say  what  you  like  it  ain't  fair  to  her  you  know.  It 
ain't  fair  to  the  pore  woman.  She'd  never  forgive 
you  if  she  found  it  out." 

"Everybody's  taking  it  for  granted,"  said  the  other. 

"Let  everybody  look  after  their  own  business," said 
Mr.  Smithson,  tartly.  "Now,  look  here,  Bob;  sup- 
pose I  get  you  out  of  this  business,  how  am  I  to  be 
sure  you'll  leave  your  property  to  me  ? — not  that  I 
want  it.  Suppose  you  altered  your  will  ?" 

"  If  you  get  me  out  of  it,  every  penny  I  leave  will 
121 


The  Bequest 

go  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  fervently.  "  I  haven't 
got  any  relations,  and  it  don't  matter  in  the  slightest 
to  me  who  has  it  after  I'm  gone." 

"As  true  as  you  stand  there  ?"  demanded  the  other, 
eyeing  him  fixedly. 

"As  true  as  I  stand  here,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson, 
smiting  his  chest,  and  shook  hands  again. 

Long  after  his  visitor  had  gone  he  sat  gazing  in  a 
brooding  fashion  at  the  fire.  As  a  single  man  his 
wants  were  few,  and  he  could  live  on  his  savings;  as 
the  husband  of  Mrs.  Phipps  he  would  be  compelled 
to  resume  the  work  he  thought  he  had  dropped  for 
good  three  years  before.  Moreover,  Mrs.  Phipps  pos- 
sessed a  strength  of  character  that  had  many  rimes 
caused  him  to  congratulate  himself  upon  her  choice 
of  a  husband. 

Slowly  but  surely  his  fetters  were  made  secure. 
Two  days  later  the  widow  departed  to  spend  six 
weeks  with  a  sister;  but  any  joy  that  he  might  have 
felt  over  the  circumstance  was  marred  by  the  fact 
that  he  had  to  carry  her  bags  down  to  the  railway 
station  and  see  her  off.  The  key  of  her  house  was 
left  with  him,  with  strict  injunctions  to  go  in  and 
water  her  geraniums  every  day,  while  two  canaries 
and  a  bullfinch  had  to  be  removed  to  his  own  house 
in  order  that  they  might  have  constant  attention  and 
company. 

122 


The  Bequest 

"She's  doing  it  on  purpose,"  said  Mr.  Smithson, 
fiercely;  "she's  binding  you  hand  and  foot." 

Mr.  Clarkson  assented  gloomily.  "I'm  trusting 
to  you,  George,"  he  remarked. 

"How'd  it  be  to  forget  to  water  the  geraniums  and 
let  the  birds  die  because  they  missed  her  so  much  ?" 
suggested  Mr.  Smithson,  after  prolonged  thought. 

Mr.  Clarkson  shivered. 

"It  would  be  a  hint,"  said  his  friend. 

Mr.  Clarkson  took  some  letters  from  the  mantel- 
piece and  held  them  up.  "She  writes  about  them 
every  day,"  he  said,  briefly,  "and  I  have  to  answer 
them  " 

"She — she  don't  refer  to  your  getting  married,  I 
suppose?"  said  his  friend,  anxiously. 

Mr.  Clarkson  said  "No.  But  her  sister  does,"  he 
added.  "I've  had  two  letters  from  her." 

Mr.  Smithson  got  up  and  paced  restlessly  up  and 
down  the  room.  "That's  women  all  over,"  he  said, 
bitterly.  "They  never  ask  for  things  straight  out; 
but  they  always  get  'em  in  roun'dabout  ways.  She 
can't  do  it  herself,  so  she  gets  her  sister  to  do  it." 

Mr.  Clarkson  groaned.  "And  her  sister  is  hint- 
ing that  she  can't  leave  the  house  where  she  spent  so 
many  happy  years,"  he  said,  "and  says  what  a 
pleasant  surprise  it  would  be  for  Mrs.  Phipps  if  she 
was  to  come  home  and  find  it  done  up." 

123 


The  Bequest 

"That  means  you've  got  to  live  there  when  you're 
married,"  said  his  friend,  solemnly. 

Mr.  Clarkson  glanced  round  his  comfortable  room 
and  groaned  again.  "  She  asked  me  to  get  an  esti- 
mate from  Digson,"  he  said,  dully.  "She  knows  as 
well  as  I  do  her  sister  hasn't  got  any  money.  I  wrote 
to  say  that  it  had  better  be  left  till  she  comes  home, 
as  I  might  not  know  what  was  wanted." 

Mr.  Smithson  nodded  approval. 

"And  Mrs.  Phipps  wrote  herself  and  thanked  me 
for  being  so  considerate,"  continued  his  friend,  grimly, 
"and  says  that  when  she  comes  back  we  must  go 
over  the  house  together  and  see  what  wants  doing." 

Mr.  Smithson  got  up  and  walked  round  the  room 
again. 

"You  never  promised  to  marry  her?"  he  said, 
stopping  suddenly. 

"No,"  said  the  other.  "It's  all  been  arranged  for 
me.  I  never  said  a  word.  I  couldn't  tell  Phipps  I 
wouldn't  have  her  with  them  all  standing  round,  and 
him  thinking  he  was  doing  me  the  greatest  favour  in 
the  world." 

"Well,  she  can't  name  the  day  unless  you  ask  her," 
said  the  other.  "All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  keep  quiet 
and  not  commit  yourself.  Be  as  cool  as  you  can, 
and,  just  before  she  comes  home,  you  go  off  to  Lon- 
don on  business  and  stay  there  as  long  as  possible." 

124 


The  Bequest 

Mr.  Clarkson  carried  out  his  instructions  to  the 
letter,  and  Mrs.  Phipps,  returning  home  at  the  end 
of  her  visit,  learned  that  he  had  left  for  London  three 
days  before,  leaving  the  geraniums  and  birds  to  the 
care  of  Mr.  Smithson.  From  the  hands  of  that  un- 
just steward  she  received  two  empty  birdcages,  to- 
gether with  a  detailed  account  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  occupants  had  effected  their  escape,  and 
a  bullfinch  that  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  tor- 
pid liver.  The  condition  of  the  geraniums  was  as- 
cribed to  worms  in  the  pots,  frost,  and  premature 
decay. 

"They  go  like  it  sometimes,"  said  Mr.  Smithson, 
"and  when  they  do  nothing  will  save  'em." 

Mrs.  Phipps  thanked  him.  "It's  very  kind  of  you 
to  take  so  much  trouble,"  she  said,  quietly;  "some 
people  would  have  lost  the  cages  too  while  they  were 
about  it." 

"I  did  my  best,"  said  Mr.  Smithson,  in  a  surly 
voice. 

"I  know  you  did,"  said  Mrs.  Phipps,  thoughtfully, 
"and  I  am  sure  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  If  there 
is  anything  of  yours  I  can  look  after  at  any  time  I 
shall  be  only  too  pleased.  When  did  you  say  Mr. 
Clarkson  was  coming  back?" 

"He  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Smithson,  promptly. 
"He  might  be  away  a  month;  and  then,  again,  he 

125 


The  Bequest 

might  be  away  six.    It  all  depends.     You  know  what 
business  is." 

"  It's  very  thoughtful  of  him,"  said  Mrs.  Phipps. 
"Very." 

"Thoughtful!"  repeated  Mr.  Smithson. 

"He  has  gone  away  for  a  time  out  of  considera- 
tion for  me,"  said  the  widow.  "As  things  are,  it  is 
2  little  bit  awkward  for  us  to  meet  much  at  present." 

"I  don't  think  he's  gone  away  for  that  at  all,"  said 
the  other,  bluntly. 

Mrs.  Phipps  shook  her  head.  "Ah,  you  don't 
know  him  as  well  as  I  do,"  she  said,  fondly.  "He 
has  gone  away  on  my  account,  I  feel  sure." 

Mr.  Smithson  screwed  his  lips  together  and  re- 
mained silent. 

"When  he  feels  that  it  is  right  and  proper  for  him 
to  come  back,"  pursued  Mrs.  Phipps,  turning  her 
eyes  upwards,  "he  will  come.  He  has  left  his  com- 
fortable home  just  for  my  sake,  and  I  shall  not  for- 
get it." 

Mr.  Smithson  coughed — a  short,  dry  cough,  meant 
to  convey  incredulity. 

"I  shall  not  do  anything  to  this  house  till  he 
comes  back,"  said  Mrs.  Phipps.  "I  expect  he 
would  like  to  have  a  voice  in  it.  He  always  used  to 
admire  it  and  say  how  comfortable  it  was.  Well, 
well,  we  never  know  what  is  before  us." 

126 


The  Bequest 

Mr.  Smithson  repeated  the  substance  of  the  in- 
terview to  Mr.  Clarkson  by  letter,  and  in  the  lengthy 
correspondence  that  followed  kept  him  posted  as  to 
the  movements  of  Mrs.  Phipps.  By  dint  of  warnings 
and  entreaties  he  kept  the  bridegroom-elect  in  Lon- 
don for  three  months.  By  that  time  Little  Molton 
was  beginning  to  talk. 

"They're  beginning  to  see  how  the  land  lays," 
said  Mr.  Smithson,  on  the  evening  of  his  friend's  re- 
turn, "and  if  you  keep  quiet  and  do  as  I  tell  you 
she'll  begin  to  see  it  too.  As  I  said  before,  she  can't 
name  the  day  till  you  ask  her." 

Mr.  Clarkson  agreed,  and  the  following  morning, 
when  he  called  upon  Mrs.  Phipps  at  her  request,  his 
manner  was  so  distant  that  she  attributed  it  to  ill- 
health  following  business  worries  and  the  atmos- 
phere of  London.  In  the  front  parlour  Mr.  Digson, 
a  small  builder  and  contractor,  was  busy  white- 
washing. 

"I  thought  we  might  as  well  get  on  with  that," 
said  Mrs.  Phipps;  "there  is  only  one  way  of  doing 
whitewashing,  and  the  room  has  got  to  be  done. 
To-morrow  Mr.  Digson  will  bring  up  some  papers, 
and,  if  you'll  come  round,  you  can  help  me  choose." 

Mr.  Clarkson  hesitated.  "Why  not  choose  'em 
yourself?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Just  what  I  told  her,"  said  Mr.  Digson,  stroking 
127 


The  Bequest 

his  black  beard.  "What'll  please  you  will  be  sure 
to  please  him,  I  says;  and  if  it  don't  it  ought  to." 

Mr.  Clarkson  started.  "Perhaps  you  could  help 
her  choose,"  he  said,  sharply. 

Mr.  Digson  came  down  from  his  perch.  "Just 
what  I  said,"  he  replied.  "If  Mrs.  Phipps  will  let 
me  advise  her,  I'll  make  this  house  so  she  won't 
know  it  before  I've  done  with  it." 

"Mr.  Digson  has  been  very  kind,"  said  Mrs. 
Phipps,  reproachfully. 

"Not  at  all,  ma'am,"  said  the  builder,  softly. 
"Anything  I  can  do  to  make  you  happy  or  com- 
fortable will  be  a  pleasure  to  me." 

Mr.  Clarkson  started  again,  and  an  odd  idea  sent 
his  blood  dancing.  Digson  was  a  widower;  Mrs. 
Phipps  was  a  widow.  Could  anything  be  more  suit- 
able or  desirable  ? 

"Better  let  him  choose,"  he  said.  "After  all,  he 
ought  to  be  a  good  judge." 

Mrs.  Phipps,  after  a  faint  protest,  gave  way,  and  Mr. 
Digson,  smiling  broadly,  mounted  his  perch  again. 

Mr.  Clarkson's  first  idea  was  to  consult  Mr.  Smith- 
son;  then  he  resolved  to  wait  upon  events.  The 
idea  was  fantastic  to  begin  with,  but,  if  things  did 
take  such  a  satisfactory  turn,  he  could  not  help  re- 
flecting that  it  wouM  not  be  due  to  any  efforts  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Smithson,  and  he  would  no  longer  be 

129 


The  Bequest 

under  any  testamentary  obligations  to  that  enterpris- 
ing gentleman. 

By  the  end  of  a  week  he  was  jubilant.  A  child 
could  have  told  Mr.  Digson' s  intentions — and  Mrs. 
Phipps  was  anything  but  a  child.  Mr.  Clarkson  ad- 
mitted cheerfully  that  Mr.  Digson  was  a  younger  and 
better-looking  man  than  himself — a  more  suitable 
match  in  every  way.  And,  so  far  as  he  could  judge, 
Mrs.  Phipps  seemed  to  think  so.  At  any  rate,  she 
had  ceased  to  make  the  faintest  allusion  to  any  tie 
between  them.  He  left  her  one  day  painting  a  door, 
while  the  attentive  Digson  guided  the  brush,  and 
walked  homewards  smiling. 

"Morning!"  said  a  voice  behind  him. 

"Morning,  Bignell,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson. 

"When — when  is  it  to  be?"  inquired  his  friend, 
walking  beside  him. 

Mr.  Clarkson  frowned.  "When  is  what  to  be?" 
he  demanded,  disagreeably. 

Mr.  Bignell  lowered  his  voice.  "You'll  lose  her 
if  you  ain't  careful,"  he  said.  "Mark  my  words. 
Can't  you  see  Digson's  little  game?" 

Mr.  Clarkson  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"He's  after  her  money,"  said  the  other,  with  a 
cautious  glance  around. 

"Money?"  said  the  other,  with  an  astonished 
laugh.  "Why,  she  hasn't  got  any." 


The  Bequest 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said   Mr.   Bignell.     "You  know 
best  of  course.     I  was  just  giving  you  the  tip,  but  if 


"  She'll  be  riding  in  her  carriage  and  pair  in  six  months  " 

you  know  better — why,  there's  nothing  more  to  be 
said.  She'll  be  riding  in  her  carriage  and  pair  in 
six  months,  anyhow;  the  richest  woman  in  Little 
Molton." 


The  Bequest 

Mr.  Clarkson  stopped  short  and  eyed  him  in  per- 
plexity. 

"Digson  got  a  bit  sprung  one  night  and  told  me," 
said  Mr.  Bignell.  "She  don't  know  it  herself  yet — 
uncle  on  her  mother's  side  in  America.  She  might 
know  at  any  moment." 

"But — but  how  did  Digson  know?"  inquired  the 
astonished  Mr.  Clarkson. 

"He  wouldn't  tell  me,"  was  the  reply.  "But  it's 
good  enough  for  him.  What  do  you  think  he's  after  ? 
Her  ?  And  mind,  don't  let  on  to  a  soul  that  I  told 

you." 

He  walked  on,  leaving  Mr.  Clarkson  standing 
in  a  dazed  condition  in  the  centre  of  the  foot-path. 
Recovering  himself  by  an  effort,  he  walked  slowly 
away,  and,  after  prowling  about  for  some  time  in 
an  aimless  fashion,  made  his  way  back  to  Mrs. 
Phipps's  house. 

He  emerged  an  hour  later  an  engaged  man,  with 
the  date  of  the  wedding  fixed.  With  jaunty  steps  he 
walked  round  and  put  up  the  banns,  and  then,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  has  completed  a  successful 
stroke  of  business,  walked  homewards. 

Little  Molton  is  a  small  town  and  news  travels 
fast,  but  it  did  not  travel  faster  than  Mr.  Smithson 
as  soon  as  he  had  heard  it.  He  burst  into  Mr. 
Clarkson's  room  like  the  proverbial  hurricane,  and, 

132 


The  Bequest 

gasping  for  breath,   leaned   against  the   table  and 
pointed  at  him  an  incriminating  finger. 

"You — you've  been  running,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson, 
uneasily. 

"What — what — what  do  you — mean  by  it?" 
gasped  Mr.  Smithson.  "After  all  my  trouble.  After 
our — bargain." 

"I  altered  my  mind,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  with 
dignity. 

"Pah!"  said  the  other. 

"Just  in  time,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  speaking  rap- 
idly. "Another  day  and  I  believe  I  should  ha'  been 
too  late.  It  took  me  pretty  near  an  hour  to  talk  her 
over.  Said  I'd  been  neglecting  her,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing;  said  that  she  was  beginning  to  think  I 
didn't  want  her.  As  hard  a  job  as  ever  I  had  in 
my  life." 

"  But  you  didn't  want  her,"  said  the  amazed  Mr. 
Smithson.  "You  told  me  so." 

"You  misunderstood  me,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson, 
coughing.  "You  jump  at  conclusions." 

Mr.  Smithson  sat  staring  at  him.  "I  heard,"  he 
said  at  last,  with  an  effort — "I  heard  that  Digson 
was  paying  her  attentions." 

Mr.  Clarkson  spoke  without  thought.  "Ha,  he  was 
only  after  her  money,"  he  said,  severely.  "Good 
heavens!  What's  the  matters'" 

133 


The  Bequest 

Mr.  Smithson,  who  had  sprung  to  his  feet,  made 
no  reply,  but  stood  for  some  time  incapable  of  speech. 

"What — is — the — matter?"  repeated  Mr.  Clark- 
son.  "Ain't  you  well  ?" 

Mr.  Smithson  swayed  a  little,  and  sank  slowly  back 
into  his  chair  again. 

"Room's  too  hot,"  said  his  astonished  host. 

Mr.  Smithson,  staring  straight  before  him,  nodded. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  resumed  Mr.  Clarkson,  in  the 
low  tones  of  confidence,  "Digson  was  after  her 
money.  Of  course  her  money  don't  make  any  differ- 
ence to  me,  although,  perhaps,  I  may  be  able  to  do 
something  for  friends  like  you.  It's  from  an  uncle 
in  America  on  her  mother's -" 

Mr.  Smithson  made  a  strange  moaning  noise,  and, 
snatching  his  hat  from  the  table,  clapped  it  on  his 
head  and  made  for  the  door.  Mr.  Clarkson  flung  his 
arms  around  him  and  dragged  him  back  by  main  force. 

"What  are  you  carrying  on  like  that  for  ?"  he  de- 
manded. "What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

"Fancy!"  returned  Mr.  Smithson,  with  intense 
bitterness.  "I  thought  Digson  was  the  biggest  fool 
in  the  place,  and  I  find  I've  made  a  mistake.  So 
have  you.  Good-night." 

He  opened  the  door  and  dashed  out.  Mr.  Clark- 
son,  with  a  strange  sinking  at  his  heart,  watched  him 
up  the  road. 

134 


THE  GUARDIAN  ANGEL 


'The  lodger  was  standing  at  the  foot  o'  Ginger's  bed,  going 
through  'is  pockets  " 


The  Guardian  Angel 

THE  night-watchman  shook  his  head.  "7 
never  met  any  of  these  phil — philanther- 
pists,  as  you  call  'em,"  he  said,  decidedly. 
"If  I  'ad  they  wouldn't  'ave  got  away  from  me  in  a 
hurry,  I  can  tell  you.  I  don't  say  I  don't  believe  in 
'em;  I  only  say  I  never  met  any  of  'em.  If  people 
do  you  a  kindness  it's  generally  because  they  want 
to  get  something  out  of  you;  same  as  a  man  once — 
a  perfick  stranger — wot  stood  me  eight  'arf-pints 
becos  I  reminded  'im  of  his  dead  brother,  and  then 
borrered  five  bob  off  of  me. 

"O'  course,  there  must  be  some  kind-'arted  people 
in  the  world — all  men  who  get  married  must  'ave  a 
soft  spot  somewhere,  if  it's  only  in  the  'ead — but 
they  don't  often  give  things  away.  Kind-'artedness 
is  often  only  another  name  for  artfulness,  same  as 
Sam  Small's  kindness  to  Ginger  Dick  and  Peter 
Russet. 

"It  started  with  a  row.  They  was  just  back  from 
a  v'y'ge  and  'ad  taken  a  nice  room  together  in  Wap- 
ping,  and  for  the  fust  day  or  two,  wot  with  'aving 
plenty  o'  money  to  spend  and  nothing  to  do,  they 

137 


The  Guardian  Angel 

was  like  three  brothers.  Then,  in  a  little,  old- 
fashioned  public-'ouse  down  Poplar  way,  one  night 
they  fell  out  over  a  little  joke  Ginger  played  on  Sam. 

"It  was  the  fust  drink  that  evening,  and  Sam  'ad 
just  ordered  a  pot  o'  beer  and  three  glasses,  when 
Ginger  winked  at  the  landlord  and  offered  to  bet 
Sam  a  level  'arf-dollar  that  'e  wouldn't  drink  off 
that  pot  o'  beer  without  taking  breath.  The  land- 
lord held  the  money,  and  old  Sam,  with  a  'appy 
smile  on  'is  face,  'ad  just  taken  up  the  mug,  when  he 
noticed  the  odd  way  in  which  they  was  all  watching 
him.  Twice  he  took  the  mug  up  and  put  it  down 
agin  without  starting  and  asked  'em  wot  the  little 
game  was,  but  they  on'y  laughed.  He  took  it  up 
the  third  time  and  started,  and  he  'ad  just  got  about 
'arf-way  through  when  Ginger  turns  to  the  land- 
lord and  ses — 

'  'Did  you  catch  it  in  the  mouse-trap,'  he  ses,  'or 
did  it  die  of  poison  ?' 

"Pore  Sam  started  as  though  he  'ad  been  shot, 
and,  arter  getting  rid  of  the  beer  in  'is  mouth,  stood 
there  'olding  the  mug  away  from  'im  and  making 
such  'orrible  faces  that  they  was  a' most  frightened. 
'Wot's  the  matter  with  him?  I've  never  seen 
'im  carry  on  like  that  over  a  drop  of  beer  before/ 
ses  Ginger,  staring. 

"He  usually  likes  it,'  ses  Peter  Russet. 

138 


The  Guardian  Angel 

'Not  with  a  dead  mouse  in  it/  ses  Sam,  trem- 
bling with  passion. 

'Mouse?'  ses  Ginger,  innercent-like.  'Mouse? 
Why,  I  didn't  say  it  was  in  your  beer,  Sam.  Wot- 
ever  put  that  into  your  'ead  ?' 

''  'And  made  you  lose  your  bet/  ses  Peter. 
'Then  old  Sam  see  'ow  he'd  been  done,  and  the 
way  he  carried  on  when  the  landlord  gave  Ginger 
the  'arf-dollar,  and  said  it  was  won  fair  and  honest, 
was  a  disgrace.  He  'opped  about  that  bar  'arf  crazy, 
until  at  last  the  landlord  and  'is  brother,  and  a  couple 
o'  soldiers,  and  a  helpless  cripple  wot  wos  selling 
matches,  put  'im  outside  and  told  'im  to  stop  there. 
"He  stopped  there  till  Ginger  and  Peter  came  out, 
and  then,  drawing  'imself  up  in  a  proud  way,  he  told 
'em  their  characters  and  wot  he  thought  about  'em. 
And  he  said  'e  never  wanted  to  see  wot  they  called 
their  faces  agin  as  long  as  he  lived. 

'I've  done  with  you/  he  ses,  'both  of  you,  for 


ever.' 


'  'All  right/  ses  Ginger  moving  off.  'Ta-ta  for 
the  present.  Let's  'ope  he'll  come  'ome  in  a  better 
temper,  Peter.' 

"Ome?'   ses  Sam,  with  a  nasty  laugh,   "ome? 

D'ye  think  I'm  coming  back  to  breathe  the  same  air 

as  you,  Ginger  ?     D'ye  think  I  want  to  be  suffocated  ? ' 

"  He  held  his  'ead  up  very  'igh,  and,  arter  looking 

139 


The  Guardian  Angel 

at  them  as  if  they  was  dirt,  he  turned  round  and 
walked  off  with  his  nose  in  the  air  to  spend  the  even- 
ing by  'imself. 

"His  temper  kept  him  up  for  a  time,  but  arter  a 
while  he  'ad  to  own  up  to  'imself  that  it  was  very 
dull,  and  the  later  it  got  the  more  he  thought  of  'is 
nice  warm  bed.  The  more  'e  thought  of  it  the  nicer 
and  warmer  it  seemed,  and,  arter  a  struggle  between 
his  pride  and  a  few  'arf-pints,  he  got  'is  good  temper 
back  agin  and  went  off  'ome  smiling. 

"The  room  was  dark  when  'e  got  there,  and,  arter 
standing  listening  a  moment  to  Ginger  and  Peter 
snoring,  he  took  off  'is  coat  and  sat  down  on  'is  bed 
to  take  'is  boots  off.  He  only  sat  down  for  a  flash, 
and  then  he  bent  down  and  hit  his  'ead  an  awful 
smack  against  another  'ead  wot  'ad  just  started  up 
to  see  wot  it  was  sitting  on  its  legs. 

"  He  thought  it  was  Peter  or  Ginger  in  the  wrong 
bed  at  fust,  but  afore  he  could  make  it  out  Ginger 
'ad  got  out  of  'is  own  bed  and  lit  the  candle.  Then 
'e  saw  it  was  a  stranger  in  'is  bed,  and  without  saying  a 
word  he  laid  'old  of  him  by  the  'air  and  began  drag- 
ging him  out. 

'Here,  stop  that!'  ses  Ginger  catching  hold  of 
'im.     *  Lend  a  hand  'ere,  Peter.' 

"Peter  lent  a  hand  and  screwed  it  into  the  back  o* 
Sam's  neck  till  he  made  'im  leave  go,  and  then  the 

140 


The  Guardian  Angel 

stranger,  a  nasty-looking  little  chap  with  a  yellow 
face  and  a  little  dark  moustache,  told  Sam  wot  he'd 
like  to  do  to  him. 

'Who  are  you?'  ses  Sam,  'and  wot  are  you 
a-doing  of  in  my  bed  ?' 

'  It's  our  lodger,'  ses  Ginger. 

'Your — wot?'  ses  Sam,  'ardly  able  to  believe  his 


ears. 

(I    C 


Our  lodger,'  ses  Peter  Russet.  'We've  let  'im 
the  bed  you  said  you  didn't  want  for  sixpence  a 
night.  Now  you  take  yourself  off.' 

"Old  Sam  couldn't  speak  for  a  minute;  there  was 
no  words  that  he  knew  bad  enough,  but  at  last  he 
licks  'is  lips  and  he  ses,  'I've  paid  for  that  bed  up  to 
Saturday,  and  I'm  going  to  have  it.' 

"He  rushed  at  the  lodger,  but  Peter  and  Ginger 
got  hold  of  'im  agin  and  put  'im  down  on  the  floor 
and  sat  on  'im  till  he  promised  to  be'ave  himself. 
They  let  'im  get  up  at  last,  and  then,  arter  calling 
themselves  names  for  their  kind-'artedness,  they  said 
if  he  was  very  good  he  might  sleep  on  the  floor. 

"Sam  looked  at  'em  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
without  a  word,  he  took  off  'is  boots  and  put  on  'is 
coat  and  went  up  in  a  corner  to  be  out  of  the  draught, 
but,  wot  with  the  cold  and  'is  temper,  and  the  hard- 
ness of  the  floor,  it  was  a  long  time  afore  'e  could 
get  to  sleep.  He  dropped  off  at  last,  and  it  seemed 

HI 


The  Guardian  Angel 

• 

to  'im  that  he  'ad  only  just  closed  'is  eyes  when  it 
was  daylight.  He  opened  one  eye  and  was  just 
going  to  open  the  other  when  he  saw  something  as 
made  'im  screw  'em  both  up  sharp  and  peep  through 
'is  eyelashes.  The  lodger  was  standing  at  the  foot 
o'  Ginger's  bed,  going  through  'is  pockets,  and  then, 
arter  waiting  a  moment  and  'aving  a  look  round,  he 
went  through  Peter  Russet's.  Sam  lay  still  as  a 
mouse  while  the  lodger  tip-toed  out  o'  the  room 
with  'is  boots  in  his  'and,  and  then,  springing  up, 
follered  him  downstairs. 

"He  caught  'im  up  just  as  he  'ad  undone  the  front 
door,  and,  catching  hold  of  'im  by  the  back  o'  the 
neck,  shook  'im  till  'e  was  tired.  Then  he  let  go  of 
'im  and,  holding  his  fist  under  'is  nose,  told  'im  to 
hand  over  the  money,  and  look  sharp  about  it. 

'Ye — ye — yes,  sir,'  ses  the  lodger,  who  was  'arf 
choked. 

"Sam  held  out  his  'and,  and  the  lodger,  arter  say- 
ing it  was  only  a  little  bit  o'  fun  on  'is  part,  and  tell- 
ing 'im  wot  a  fancy  he  'ad  taken  to  'im  from  tiie 
fust,  put  Ginger's  watch  and  chain  into  his  'ands 
and  eighteen  pounds  four  shillings  and  seven  pence. 
Sam  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and,  arter  going  through 
the  lodger's  pockets  to  make  sure  he  'adn't  forgot 
anything,  opened  the  door  and  flung  'im  into  the 
street.  He  stopped  on  the  landing  to  put  the  money 

142 


The  Guardian  Angel 

in  a  belt  he  was  wearing  under  'is  clothes,  and  then 
'e  went  back  on  tip-toe  to  'is  corner  and  went  to 
sleep  with  one  eye  open  and  the  'appiest  smile  that 
had  been  on  his  face  for  years. 

"He  shut  both  eyes  when  he  'card  Ginger  wake 
Up,  and  he  slept  like  a  child  through  the  'orrible 
noise  that  Peter  and  Ginger  see  fit  to  make  when 
they  started  to  put  their  clothes  on.  He  got  tired  of 
it  afore  they  did,  and,  arter  opening  'is  eyes  slowly 
and  yawning,  he  asked  Ginger  wot  he  meant  by  it. 

'You'll  wake  your  lodger  up  if  you  ain't  careful, 
making  that  noise,'  he  ses.  'Wot's  the  matter?' 

1  'Sam/  ses  Ginger,  in  a  very  different  voice  to 
wot  he  'ad  used  the  night  before,  'Sam,  old  pal,  he's 
taken  all  our  money  and  bolted.' 

'Wot?'  ses  Sam,  sitting  up  on  the  floor  and 
blinking.  'Nonsense!' 

'Robbed  me  and  Peter,'  ses  Ginger,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice;  'taken  every  penny  we've  got,  and  my 
watch  and  chain.' 

'You're  dreaming,'  ses  Sam. 

'I  wish  I  was,'  ses  Ginger. 

'But  surely,  Ginger,'  ses  Sam,  standing  up, 
'surely  you  didn't  take  a  lodger  without  a  character  ?* 

'He  seemed  such  a  nice  chap,'  ses  Peter.  'We 
was  only  saying  wot  a  much  nicer  chap  he  was  than 

— than ' 

f  'Go  on,  Peter/  ses  Sam,  very  perlite. 


The  Guardian  Angel 

"  'Than  he  might  ha*  been/  ses  Ginger,  very 
quick. 

'Well,  I've  'ad  a  wonderful  escape/  ses  Sam. 
'If  it  hadn't  ha'  been  for  sleeping  in  my  clothes  I 
suppose  he'd  ha'  'ad  my  money  as  well.' 

"He  felt  in  'is  pockets  anxious-like,  tnen  he 
smiled,  and  stood  there  letting  'is  money  fall  through 
'is  fingeA  into  his  pocket  over  and  over  agin. 

''  'Pore  chap/  he  ses;  'pore  chap;  pYaps  he'd 
got  a  starving  wife  and  family.  Who  knows  ?  It 
ain't  for  us  to  judge  'im,  Ginger.' 

"He  stood  a  little  while  longer  chinking  'is  money, 
and  when  he  took  off  his  coat  to  wash  Ginger  Dick 
poured  the  water  out  for  'im  and  Peter  Russet 
picked  up  the  soap,  which  'ad  fallen  on  the  floor. 
Then  they  started  pitying  themselves,  looking  very 
'ard  at  the  back  of  old  Sam  while  they  did  it. 

'I  s'pose  we've  got  to  starve,  Peter/  ses  Ginger, 
in  a  sad  voice. 

;  'Looks  like  it/  ses  Peter,  dressing  hisself  very 
slowly. 

'There's  nobody'll  mourn  for   me,  that's    one 
comfort/  ses  Ginger. 
"  'Or  me/  ses  Peter. 

'  'P'r'aps  Sam'll  miss  us  a  bit/  ses  Ginger,  grind- 
ing 'is  teeth  as  old  Sam  went  on  washing  as  if  he  was 
deaf.  'He's  the  only  real  pal  we  ever  'ad.' 

'Wot  are  you  talking  about?'  ses  Sam,  turning 
144 


The  Guardian  Angel 

round  with  the  soap  in  his  eyes,  and  feeling  for  the 
towel.  'Wot  d'ye  want  to  starve  for?  Why  don't 
you  get  a  ship  ?' 

"  '  I  thought  we  was  all  going  to  sign  on  in  the 
Cheaspeake  agin,  Sam,'  ses  Ginger,  very  mild. 

"  'She  won't  be  ready  for  sea  for  pretty  near  three 
weeks,'  ses  Sam.  'You  know  that.' 

"  'P'r'aps  Sam  would  lend  us  a  trifle  to  go  on  with, 
Ginger,'  ses  Peter  Russet.  'Just  enough  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together,  so  as  we  can  hold  out  and 
'ave  the  pleasure  of  sailing  with  'im  agin.' 

"'P'r'aps  he  wouldn't/  ses  Sam,  afore  Ginger 
could  open  his  mouth.  'I've  just  got  about  enough 
to  last  myself;  I  'aven't  got  any  to  lend.  Sailormen 
wot  turns  on  their  best  friends  and  makes  them  sleep 
on  the  cold  'ard  floor  while  their  new  pal  is  in  his 
bed  don't  get  money  lent  to  'em.  My  neck  is  so  stiff 
it  creaks  every  time  I  move  it,  and  I've  got  the  rheu- 
matics in  my  legs  something  cruel.' 

"He  began  to  'um  a  song,  and  putting  on  'is  cap 
went  out  to  get  some  brekfuss.  He  went  to  a  little 
eating-'ouse  near  by,  where  they  was  in  the  'abit  of 
going,  and  'ad  just  started  on  a  plate  of  eggs  and 
bacon  when  Ginger  Dick  and  Peter  came  into  the 

o 

place  with  a  pocket-'ankercher  of  'is  wot  they  'ad 
found  in  the  fender. 

"  'We  thought  you  might  want  it,  Sam,'  ses  Peter. 
H5 


The  Guardian  Angel 

"  *  So  we  brought  it  along/  ses  Ginger.     *  I  'ope 
you're  enjoying  of  your  brekfuss,  Sam.' 

"Sam  took  the  'ankercher  and  thanked  'em  very 


" '  We  thought  you  might  want  it,  Sam,'  ses  Peter  " 

pcrlite,  and  arter  standing  there  for  a  minute  or  two 
as  if  they  wanted  to  say  something  they  couldn't  re- 
member, they  sheered  off.  When  Sam  left  the  place 
'arf-an-hour  afterwards  they  was  still  hanging  about, 

146 


The  Guardian  Angel 

and  as  Sam  passed  Ginger  asked  'im  if  he  was  going 
for  a  walk. 

"  'Walk  ?'  ses  Sam.  'Cert'nly  not.  I'm  going  to 
bed;  7  didn't  'ave  a  good  night's  rest  like  you  and 
your  lodger.' 

"He  went  back  'ome,  and  arter  taking  off  'is  coat 
and  boots  got  into  bed  and  slept  like  a  top  till  one 
o'clock,  when  he  woke  up  to  find  Ginger  shaking  'im 
by  the  shoulders. 

'Wot's  the  matter?'  he  ses.  'Wot  are  you  up 
to?' 

'  It's  dinner-time,'  ses  Ginger.  '  I  thought  p'r'aps 
you'd  like  to  know,  in  case  you  missed  it.' 

'You  leave  me  alone,'  ses  Sam,  cuddling  into  the 
clothes  agin.  'I  don't  want  no  dinner.  You  go  and 
look  arter  your  own  dinners.' 

"He  stayed  in  bed  for  another  'arf-hour,  listening 
to  Peter  and  Ginger  telling  each  other  in  loud  whis- 
pers 'ow  hungry  they  was,  and  then  he  got  up  and 
put  'is  things  on  and  went  to  the  door. 

'I'm  going  to  get  a  bit  o'  dinner,'  he  ses.  *And 
mind,  I've  got  my  pocket-'ankercher.' 

"He  went  out  and  'ad  a  steak  and  onions  and  a 
pint  o'  beer,  but,  although  he  kept  looking  up  sudden 
from  'is  plate,  he  didn't  see  Peter  or  Ginger.  It 
spoilt  'is  dinner  a  bit,  but  arter  he  got  outside  'e  saw 
them  standing  at  the  corner,  and,  pretending  not  to 

147 


The  Guardian  Angel 

see  them,  he  went  off  for  a  walk  down  the  Mile  End 
Road. 

"He  walked  as  far  as  Bow  with  them  follering  'im, 
and  then  he  jumped  on  a  bus  and  rode  back  as  far 
as  Whitechapel.  There  was  no  sign  of  'em  when  he 
got  off,  and,  feeling  a  bit  lonesome,  he  stood  about 
looking  in  shop-windows  until  'e  see  them  coming 
along  as  hard  as  they  could  come. 

'Why,  halloa!'  he  ses.     'Where  did  you  spring 
from?' 

'We — we — we've  been — for  a  bit  of  a  walk/  ses 
Ginger  Dick,  puffing  and  blowing  like  a  grampus. 
'To — keep  down  the  'unger,'  ses  Peter  Russet. 
"Old  Sam  looked  at  'em  very  stern  for  a  moment, 
then  he  beckoned  'em  to  foller  'im,  and,  stopping  at 
a  little  public-' ouse,  he  went  in  and  ordered  a  pint  o' 
bitter. 

'  'And  give  them  two  pore  fellers  a  crust  o'  bread 
and  cheese  and  'arf-a-pint  of  four  ale  each/  he  ses  to 
the  barmaid. 

"Ginger  and  Peter  looked  at  each  other,  but  they 
was  so  hungry  they  didn't  say  a  word;  they  just 
stood  waiting. 

1  'Put  that  inside  you  my  pore  fetters/  ses  Sam, 
with  a  oily  smile.  '  I  can't  bear  to  see  people  suffer- 
ing for  want  o'  food/  he  ses  to  the  barmaid,  as  he 
chucked  down  a  sovereign  on  the  counter. 

148 


The  Guardian  Angel 

"The  barmaid,  a  very  nice  gal  with  black  'air  and 
her  fingers  covered  all  over  with  rings,  said  that  it 
did  'im  credit,  and  they  stood  there  talking  about 
tramps  and  beggars  and  such-like  till  Peter  and 
Ginger  nearly  choked.  He  stood  there  watching  'em 
and  smoking  a  threepenny  cigar,  and  when  they  'ad 
finished  he  told  the  barmaid  to  give  'em  a  sausage- 
roll  each,  and  went  off. 

"Peter  and  Ginger  snatched  up  their  sausage-rolls 
and  follered  'im,  and  at  last  Ginger  swallowed  his 
pride  and  walked  up  to  'im  and  asked  'im  to  lend 
them  some  money. 

'You'll  get  it  back  agin,'  he  ses.  'You  know 
that  well  enough.' 

'Cert'nly  not,'  ses  Sam;  'and  I'm  surprised  at 
you  asking.  Why,  a  child  could  rob  you.  It's  'ard 
enough  as  it  is  for  a  pore  man  like  me  to  'ave  to  keep 
a  couple  o'  hulking  sailormen,  but  I'm  not  going  to 
give  you  money  to  chuck  away  on  lodgers.  No  more 
sleeping  on  the  floor  for  me!  Now  I  don't  want 
none  o'  your  langwidge,  and  I  don't  want  you  feller- 
ing  me  like  a  couple  o'  cats  arter  a  meat-barrer.  I 
shall  be  'aving  a  cup  o'  tea  at  Brown's  coffee-shop  by 
and  by,  and  if  you're  there  at  five  sharp  I'll  see  wot 
I  can  do  for  you.  Wot  did  you  call  me  ?' 

"Ginger  told  'im  three  times,  and  then  Peter  Rus- 
set dragged  'im  away.  They  turned  up  outside 

149 


The  Guardian  Angel 

Brown's  at  a  quarter  to  five,  and  at  ten  past  six  Sam 
Small  strolled  up  smoking  a  cigar,  and,  arter  telling 
them  that  he  'ad  forgot  all  about  'em,  took  'em  inside 
and  paid  for  their  teas.  He  told  Mr.  Brown  *e  was 
paying  for  'em,  and  'e  told  the  gal  wot  served  'em  'e 
was  paying  for  'em,  and  it  was  all  pore  Ginger  could 
do  to  stop  'imself  from  throwing  his  plate  in  'is 
face. 

"Sam  went  off  by  'imself,  and  arter  walking  about 
all  the  evening  without  a  ha'penny  in  their  pockets, 
Ginger  Dick  and  Peter  went  off 'ome  to  bed  and  went 
to  sleep  till  twelve  o'clock,  when  Sam  came  in  and 
woke  'em  up  to  tell  'em  about  a  music-'all  he  'ad 
been  to,  and  'ow  many  pints  he  had  'ad.  He  sat  up 
in  bed  till  past  one  o'clock  talking  about  'imself,  and 
twice  Peter  Russet  woke  Ginger  up  to  listen  and  got 
punched  for  'is  trouble. 

"They  both  said  they'd  get  a  ship  next  morning, 
and  then  old  Sam  turned  round  and  wouldn't  'ear  of 
it.  The  airs  he  gave  'imself  was  awful.  He  said 
hed  tell  'em  when  they  was  to  get  a  ship,  and  if  they 
went  and  did  things  without  asking  'im  he'd  let  'em 
starve. 

"He  kept  'em  with  'im  all  that  day  for  fear  of 
losing  'em  and  having  to  give  'em  their  money  when 
'e  met  ''em  agin  instead  of  spending  it  on  'em  and 
getting  praised  for  it.  They  'ad  their  dinner  with 

150 


The  Guardian  Angel 

*im  at  Brown's,  and  nothing  they  could  do  pleased 
him.  He  spoke  to  Peter  Russet  out  loud  about 
making  a  noise  while  he  was  eating,  and  directly 
arterwards  he  told  Ginger  to  use  his  pocket-'anker- 
cher.  Pore  Ginger  sat  there  looking  at  'im  and 
swelling  and  swelling  until  he  nearly  bust,  and  Sam 
told  'im  if  he  couldn't  keep  'is  temper  when  people 
was  trying  to  do  'im  a  kindness  he'd  better  go  and 
get  somebody  else  to  keep  him. 

"He  took  'em  to  a  music-'all  that  night,  but  he 
spoilt  it  all  for  'em  by  taking  'em  into  the  little 
public-'ouse  in  Whitechapel  Road  fust  and  standing 
5em  a  drink.  He  told  the  barmaid  'e  was  keeping 
'em  till  they  could  find  a  job,  and  arter  she  'ad  told 
him  he  was  too  soft-'arted  and  would  only  be  took 
advantage  of,  she  brought  another  barmaid  up  to 
look  at  'em  and  ask  'em  wot  they  could  do,  and  why 
they  didn't  do  it. 

"Sam  served  'em  like  that  for  over  a  week,  and 
he  'ad  so  much  praise  from  Mr.  Brown  and  other 
people  that  it  nearly  turned  his  'ead.  For  once  in 
his  life  he  'ad  it  pretty  near  all  'is  own  way.  Twice 
Ginger  Dick  slipped  off  and  tried  to  get  a  ship  and 
came  back  sulky  and  hungry,  and  once  Peter  Russet 
sprained  his  thumb  trying  to  get  a  job  at  the  docks. 

"They  gave  it  up  then  and  kept  to  Sam  like  a 
couple  oj  shadders,  only  giving  'im  back-answers 


The  Guardian  Angel 

when  they  felt  as  if  something  'ud  give  way  inside  if 
they  didn't.  For  the  fust  time  in  their  lives  they 
began  to  count  the  days  till  their  boat  was  ready  for 
sea.  Then  something  happened. 

"They  was  all  coming  'ome  late  one  night  along 
the  Minories,  when  Ginger  Dick  gave  a  shout  and, 
suddenly  bolting  up  a  little  street  arter  a  man  that 
'ad  turned  up  there,  fust  of  all  sent  'im  flying  with  a 
heavy  punch  of  'is  fist,  and  then  knelt  on  'im. 

'  'Now  then  Ginger/  ses  Sam  bustling  up  with 
Peter  Russet,  'wot's  all  this  ?     Wot  yer  doing  ?' 

'It's  the  thief,'  ses  Ginger.  'It's  our  lodger. 
You  keep  still!'  he  ses  shaking  the  man.  'D'ye 
hear?' 

"  Peter  gave  a  shout  of  joy,  and  stood  by  to  help. 
:  'Nonsense!'  ses  old  Sam,  turning  pale.     'You've 
been  drinking,  Ginger.     This  comes  of  standing  you 
'arf-pints/ 

'It's  him  right  enough/  ses  Ginger.  'I'd  know 
'is  ugly  face  anywhere.' 

'You  come  off" 'ome  at  once/  ses  Sam,  very  sharp, 
but  his  voice  trembling.  'At  once.  D'ye  hear  me  ?' 

'Fetch  a  policeman,  Peter/  ses  Ginger. 

'Let  the  pore  feller  go,  I  tell  you/  ses  Sam, 
stamping  his  foot.  '  'Ow  would  you  like  to  be 
locked  up  ?  'Ow  would  you  like  to  be  torn  away 

from  your  wife  and  little  ones  ?     'Ow  would  you * 

152 


The  Guardian  Angel 

r '  Fetch  a  policeman,  Peter/  ses  Ginger  agin. 
'D'ye  hear?' 

'Don't  do  that,  guv'nor,'  ses  the  lodger.  'You 
got  your  money  back.  Wot's  the  good  o*  putting 
me  away  ? ' 

1  'Got  our  wot  back?'  ses  Ginger,  shaking  'im 
agin.  'Don't  you  try  and  be  funny  with  me,  else 
I'll  tear  }'ou  into  little  pieces.' 

'But  he  took  it  back,'  ses  the  man,  trying  to  sit 
up  and  pointing  at  Sam.  'He  follered  me  down- 
stairs and  took  it  all  away  from  me.  Your  ticker  as 
well.' 

'WoT?'  ses  Ginger  and  Peter  both  together. 

"Strue  as  I'm  'ere,'  ses  the  lodger.  'You  turn 
'is  pockets  out  and  see.  Look  out!  He's  going  off!' 
"Ginger  turned  his  'ead  just  in  time  to  see  old 
Sam  nipping  round  the  corner.  He  pulled  the  lodger 
up  like  a  flash,  and,  telling  Peter  to  take  hold  of  the 
other  side  of  him,  they  set  off  arter  Sam. 

'Little — joke — o*  mine — Ginger,'  ses  Sam,  when 
they  caught  'im.  'I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  it 
to-night.  It  ain't  often  I  get  the  chance  of  a  joke 
agin  you  Ginger;  you're  too  sharp  for  a  old  man 
like  me.' 

"Ginger  Dick  didn't  say  anything.  He  kept  'old 
o'  Sam's  arm  with  one  hand  and  the  lodger's  neck 
with  the  other,  and  marched  'em  off  to  his  lodgings. 

153 


The  Guardian  Angel 

He  shut  the  door  when  'e  got  in,  and  arter  Peter  'ad 
lit  the  candle  they  took  hold  o'  Sam  and  went  through 
'im,  and  arter  trying  to  find  pockets  where  he  'adn't 
got  any,  they  took  off  'is  belt  and  found  Ginger's 
watch,  seventeen  pounds  five  shillings,  and  a  few 
coppers. 

'We  'ad  over  nine  quid  each,  me  and  Peter/  ses 
Ginger.  'Where's  the  rest?' 

'It's  all  I've  got  left,'  ses  Sam;  'every  ha'penny/ 
"He  'ad  to  undress  and  even  take  'is  boats  off 
afore  they'd  believe  Mm,  and  then  Ginger  took  'is 
watch  and  he  ses  to  Peter,  'Lemme  see;  'arf  of 
seventeen  pounds  is  eight  pounds  ten;  'arf  of  five 
shillings  is  'arf-a-crown;  and  'arf  of  fourpence  is 
twopence.' 

'What  about  me  Ginger  old  pal  ?'  ses  Sam,  in  a 
kind  voice.  'We  must  divide  it  into  threes.' 

'  Threes?'  ses  Ginger,  staring  at  'im.     '  Whaffor  ?' 

'  'Cos  part  of  it's  mine/  ses  Sam,  struggling  'ard 
to  be  perlite.  'I've  paid  for  everything  for  the  last 
ten  days,  ain't  I  ?' 

'Yes/  ses  Ginger.  'You  'ave,  and  I  thank  you 
for  it.' 

"  'So  do  I/  ses  Peter  Russet.     'Hearty  I  do.' 

'It  was  your  kind-'artedness/  ses  Ginger,  grin- 
ning like  mad.  'You  gave  it  to  us,  and  we  wouldn't 
dream  of  giving  it  to  you  back.' 

154 


The  Guardian  Angel 

"  'Nothin'  o'  the  kind/  ses  Sam,  choking. 
1  'Oh,  yes  you  did/  ses  Ginger,  'and  you  didn't 
forget  to  tell  people  neither.     You  told  everybody. 
Now  it's  our  turn.' 

"He  opened  the  door  and  kicked  the  lodger  out. 
Leastways,  he  would  'ave  kicked  'im,  but  the  chap 
was  too  quick  for  'im.  And  then  'e  came  back,  and, 
putting  his  arm  round  Peter's  waist,  danced  a  waltz 
round  the  room  with  'im,  while  pore  old  Sam  got  on 
to  his  bed  to  be  out  of  the  way.  They  danced  for 
nearly  'arf-an-hour,  and  then  they  undressed  and 
sat  on  Peter's  bed  and  talked.  They  talked  in  whis- 
pers at  fust,  but  at  last  Sam  'card  Peter  say 

'Threepence  for  'is  brekfuss;   sevenpence  for  'is 
dinner;   threepence  for  'is  tea;  penny  for  beer  and  a 
penny  for  bacca.     'Ow  much  is  that,  Ginger?' 
:  'One  bob/  ses  Ginger. 

"Peter  counted  up  to  'imself.  'I  make  it  more 
than  that,  old  pal/  he  ses,  when  he  'ad  finished. 

'Do  you?'  ses  Ginger,  getting  up.  'Well,  he 
won't;  not  if  he  counts  it  twenty  times  over  he  won't. 
Good-night,  Peter.  'Appy  dreams.' ' 


155 


DUAL  CONTROL 


A  very  faint  squeeze  in  return  decided  him 


'TW    TEVER   say   'die/    Bert,"   said   Mr.   Cul- 

^^       pepper,  kindly;    "I  like  you,  and  so  do 

most  other  people  who  know  what's  good 

for  'em;   and  if  Florrie  don't  like  you  she  can  keep 

single  till  she  does." 

Mr.  Albert  Sharp  thanked  him. 

"Come  in  more  oftener,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper. 
"If  she  don't  know  a  steady  young  man  when  she 
sees  him,  it's  her  mistake." 

"Nobody  could  be  steadier  than  what  I  am/! 
sighed  Mr.  Sharp. 

Mr.  Culpepper  nodded.  'The  worst  of  it  is,  girls 
don't  like  steady  young  men,"  he  said,  rumpling  his 
thin  grey  hair;  "that's  the  silly  part  of  it." 

"  But  you  was  always  steady,  and  Mrs.  Culpepper 
married  you,"  said  the  young  man. 

Mr.  Culpepper  nodded  again.  "She  thought  I 
was,  and  that  came  to  the  same  thing,"  he  said,  com- 
posedly. "And  it  ain't  for  me  to  say,  but  she  had 
an  idea  that  I  was  very  good-looking  in  them  days. 
I  had  chestnutty  hair.  She  burnt  a  piece  of  it  only 
the  other  day  she'd  kept  for  thirty  years." 

159 


Dual  Control 

"Burnt  it  ?     What  for  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Sharp. 

"Words/*  said  the  other,  lowering  his  voice. 
"When  I  want  one  thing  nowadays  she  generally 
wants  another;  and  the  things  she  wants  ain't  the 
things  I  want." 

Mr.  Sharp  shook  his  head  and  sighed  again. 

"You  ain't  talkative  enough  for  Florrie,  you 
know,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  regarding  him. 

"I  can  talk  all  right  as  a  rule,"  retorted  Mr.  Sharp. 
"You  ought  to  hear  me  at  the  debating  society;  but 
you  can't  talk  to  a  girl  who  doesn't  talk  back." 

"You're  far  too  humble,"  continued  the  other. 
"You  should  cheek  her  a  bit  now  and  then.  Let  'er 
see  you've  got  some  spirit.  Chaff  *er." 

"That's  no  good,"  said  the  young  man,  restlessly. 
"I've  tried  it.  Only  the  other  day  I  called  her  *a 
saucy  little  kipper,'  and  the  way  she  went  on,  any- 
body would  have  thought  I'd  insulted  her.  Can't 
see  a  joke,  I  s'pose.  Where  is  she  now?" 

"Upstairs,"  was  the  reply. 

"That's  because  I'm  here,"  said  Mr.  Sharp.  "If 
it  had  been  Jack  Butler  she'd  have  been  down  fast 
enough." 

"It  couldn't  be  him,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  "be- 
cause I  won't  have  'im  in  the  house.  I've  told  him 
so;  I've  told  her  so,  and  I've  told  'er  aunt  so.  And 
if  she  marries  without  my  leave  afore  she's  thirty  she 

1 60 


Dual  Control 

loses  the  seven  hundred  pounds  'er  father  left  her. 
You've  got  plenty  of  time — ten  years." 

Mr.  Sharp,  sitting  with  his  hands  between  his 
knees,  gazed  despondently  at  the  floor.  "There's  a 
lot  o'  girls  would  jump  at  me,"  he  remarked.  "I've 
only  got  to  hold  up  my  little  finger  and  they'd  jump." 

"That's  because  they've  got  sense,"  said  Mr.  Cul- 
pepper.  "They've  got  the  sense  to  prefer  steadi- 
ness and  humdrumness  to  good  looks  and  dash.  A 
young  fellow  like  you  earning  thirty-two-and-six  a 
week  can  do  without  good  looks,  and  if  I've  told 
Florrie  so  once  I  have  told  her  fifty  times." 

"Looks  are  a  matter  of  taste,"  said  Mr.  Sharp, 
morosely.  "Some  of  them  girls  I  was  speaking  about 
just  now " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  hastily.  "Now, 
look  here;  you  go  on  a  different  tack.  Take  a  glass 
of  ale  like  a  man  or  a  couple  o'  glasses;  smoke  a 
cigarette  or  a  pipe.  Be  like  other  young  men.  Cut 
a  dash,  and  don't  be  a  namby-pamby.  After  you're 
married  you  can  be  as  miserable  as  you  like." 

Mr.  Sharp,  after  a  somewhat  lengthy  interval, 
thanked  him. 

"It's  my  birthday  next  Wednesday,"  continued 
Mr.  Culpepper,  regarding  him  benevolently;  "come 
round  about  seven,  and  I'll  ask  you  to  stay  to  supper. 
That'll  give  you  a  chance.  Anybody's  allowed  to 

161 


Dual  Control 

step  a  bit  over  the  mark  on  birthdays,  and  you  might 
take  a  glass  or  two  and  make  a  speech,  and  be  so 
happy  and  bright  that  they'd  'ardly  know  you.  If 
you  want  an  excuse  for  calling,  you  could  bring  me  a 
box  of  cigars  for  my  birthday." 

"Or  come  in  to  wish  you  'Many  Happy  Returns 
of  the  Day/  "  said  the  thrifty  Mr.  Sharp. 

"And  don't  forget  to  get  above  yourself,"  said  Mr. 
Culpepper,  regarding  him  sternly;  "in  a  gentle- 
manly way,  of  course.  Have  as  many  glasses  as 
you  like — there's  no  stint  about  me." 

"If  it  ever  comes  off,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  rising — "if 
I  get  her  through  you,  you  shan't  have  reason  to  re- 
pent it.  I'll  look  after  that." 

Mr.  Culpepper,  whose  feelings  were  a  trifle  ruffled, 
said  that  he  would  "look  after  it  too."  He  had  a 
faint  idea  that,  even  from  his  own  point  of  view,  he 
might  have  made  a  better  selection  for  his  niece's 
hand. 

Mr.  Sharp  smoked  his  first  cigarette  the  following 
morning,  and,  encouraged  by  the  entire  absence  of 
any  after-effects,  purchased  a  pipe,  which  was  taken 
up  by  a  policeman  the  same  evening  for  obstructing 
the  public  footpath  in  company  with  a  metal  tobacco- 
box  three  parts  full. 

In  the  matter  of  ale  he  found  less  difficulty.  Cer- 
tainly the  taste  was  unpleasant,  but,  treated  as  medi- 

162 


Dual  Control 

cine  and  gulped  down  quickly,  it  was  endurable. 
After  a  day  or  two  he  even  began  to  be  critical,  and 
on  Monday  evening  went  so  far  as  to  complain  of 
its  flatness  to  the  wide-eyed  landlord  of  the  "  Royal 
George." 

"Too  much  cellar-work,"  he  said,  as  he  finished 
his  glass  and  made  for  the  door. 

'Too  much !  'Ere,  come  'ere,"  said  the  land- 
lord, thickly.  "I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

The  expert  shook  his  head,  and,  passing  out  into 
the  street,  changed  colour  as  he  saw  Miss  Garland 
approaching.  In  a  blundering  fashion  he  clutched 
at  his  hat  and  stammered  out  a  "Good  evening." 

Miss  Garland  returned  the  greeting  and,  instead 
of  passing  on,  stopped  and,  with  a  friendly  smile, 
held  out  her  hand.  Mr.  Sharp  shook  it  convul- 
sively. 

"You  are  just  the  man  I  want  to  see,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Aunt  and  I  have  been  talking  about  you 
all  the  afternoon." 

Mr.  Sharp  said  "Really!" 

"  But  I  don't  want  uncle  to  see  us,"  pursued  Miss 
Garland,  in  the  low  tones  of  confidence.  '"Which 
way  shall  we  go  ?" 

Mr.  Sharp's  brain  reeled.  All  ways  were  alike  to 
him  in  such  company.  He  walked  beside  her  like  a 
man  in  a  dream. 

163 


Dual  Control 

"We  want  to  give  him  a  lesson,"  said  the  girl, 
presently.  "A  lesson  that  he  will  remember." 

"Him?"  said  the  young  man. 

"Uncle,"  explained  the  girl.  "It's  a  shocking 
thing,  a  wicked  thing,  to  try  and  upset  a  steady 
young  man  like  you.  Aunt  is  quite  put  out  about 
it,  and  I  feel  the  same  as  she  does." 

"But,"  gasped  the  astonished  Mr.  Sharp,  "how 
did  you ?" 

"Aunt  heard  him,"  said  Miss  Garland.  "She 
was  just  going  into  the  room  when  she  caught  a  word 
or  two,  and  she  stayed  outside  and  listened.  You 
don't  know  what  a  lot  she  thinks  of  you." 

Mr.  Sharp's  eyes  opened  wider  than  ever.  "I — 
I  thought  she  didn't  like  me,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"Good  gracious!"  said  Miss  Garland.  "What- 
ever could  have  put  such  an  idea  as  that  into  your 
head  ?  Of  course,  aunt  isn't  always  going  to  let 
uncle  see  that  she  agrees  with  him.  Still,  as  if  any- 
body could  help "  she  murmured  to  herself. 

"Eh  ?"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"Nothing." 

Miss  Garland  walked  along  with  averted  face; 
Mr.  Sharp,  his  pulses  bounding,  trod  on  air  beside 
her. 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  at  last— "I  thought  that 
Jack  Butler  was  a  favourite  of  hers  ?" 

164 


Dual  Control 

"Jack  Butler!"  said  the  girl,  in  tones  of  scornful 
surprise.  "The  idea!  How  blind  men  are;  you're 
all  alike,  I  think.  You  can't  see  two  inches  in  front 
of  you.  She's  as  pleased  as  possible  that  you  are 
coming  on  Wednesday;  and  so  am " 

Mr.  Sharp  caught  his  breath.  "Yes?"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"Let's  go  down  here,"  said  Miss  Garland  quickly; 
"down  by  the  river.  And  I'll  tell  you  what  we  want 
you  to  do." 

She  placed  her  hand  lightly  on  his  arm,  and  Mr. 
Sharp,  with  a  tremulous  smile,  obeyed.  The  smile 
faded  gradually  as  he  listened,  and  an  expression  of 
anxious  astonishment  took  its  place.  He  shook  his 
head  as  she  proceeded,  and  twice  ventured  a  faint 
suggestion  that  she  was  only  speaking  in  jest.  Con- 
vinced at  last,  against  his  will,  he  walked  on  in  silent 
consternation. 

"But,"  he  said  at  last,  as  Miss  Garland  paused 
for  breath,  "your  uncle  would  never  forgive  me. 
He'd  never  let  me  come  near  the  house  again." 

"Aunt  will  see  to  that,"  said  the  girl,  confidently. 
"  But,  of  course,  if  you  don't  wish  to  please  me " 

She  turned  away,  and  Mr.  Sharp,  plucking  up 
spirit,  ventured  to  take  her  hand  and  squeeze  it.  A 
faint,  a  very  faint,  squeeze  in  return  decided  him. 

"It  will  come  all  right  afterwards,"   said   Miss 


Dual  Control 

Garland  "especially  with  the  hold  it  will  give  aunt 
over  him." 

"I  hope  so/*  said  the  young  man.  "If  not,  I  shall 
be  far — farther  off  than  ever." 

Miss  Garland  blushed  and,  turning  her  head,  gazed 
steadily  at  the  river. 

"Trust  me,"  she  said  at  last.     "Me  and  auntie." 

Mr.  Sharp  said  that  so  long  as  he  pleased  her 
nothing  else  mattered,  and,  in  the  seventh  heaven  of 
delight,  paced  slowly  along  the  towpath  by  her  side. 

"And  you  mustn't  mind  what  auntie  and  I  say  to 
you,"  said  the  girl,  continuing  her  instructions. 
"We  must  keep  up  appearances,  you  know,  and  if 
we  seem  to  be  angry,  you  must  remember  we  are 
only  pretending." 

Mr.  Sharp,  with  a  tender  smile,  said  that  he  under- 
stood perfectly. 

"And  now  I  had  better  go/'  said  Florrie,  return- 
ing the  smile.  "Uncle  might  see  us  together,  or  some- 
body else  might  see  us  and  tell  him.  Good-bye." 

She  shook  hands  and  went  off,  stopping  three 
times  to  turn  and  wave  her  hand.  In  a  state  of  be- 
wildered delight  Mr.  Sharp  continued  his  stroll, 
rehearsing,  as  he  went,  the  somewhat  complicated 
and  voluminous  instructions  she  had  given  him. 

By  Wednesday  evening  he  was  part-perfect,  and, 
in  a  state  of  mind  divided  between  nervousness  and 

166 


Dual  Control 

exaltation,  set  out  for  Mr.  Culpepper's.  He  found 
that  gentleman,  dressed  in  his  best,  sitting  in  an 
easy-chair  with  his  hands  folded  over  a  fancy  waist- 
coat of  startling  design,  and,  placing  a  small  box  of 
small  cigars  on  his  knees,  wished  him  the  usual 
" Happy  Returns."  The  entrance  of  the  ladies,  who 
seemed  as  though  they  had  just  come  off  the  ice,  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Culpepper's  thanks. 

"Getting  spoiled,  that's  what  I  am,"  he  remarked, 
playfully.  "See  this  waistcoat  ?  My  old  Aunt  Eliza- 
beth sent  it  this  morning." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  glanced  down  in 
warm  approval.  'The  missis  gave  me  a  pipe,  and 
Fiorrie  gave  me  half  a  pound  of  tobacco.  And  I 
bought  a  bottle  of  port  wine  myself,  for  all  of  us." 

He  pointed  to  a  bottle  that  stood  on  the  supper- 
table,  and,  the  ladies  retiring  to  the  kitchen  to  bring 
in  the  supper,  rose  and  placed  chairs.  A  piece  of 
roast  beef  was  placed  before  him,  and,  motioning 
Mr.  Sharp  to  a  seat  opposite  Fiorrie,  he  began  to 
carve. 

"Just  a  nice  comfortable  party,"  he  said,  genially, 
as  he  finished.  "Help  yourself  to  the  ale,  Bert." 

Mr.  Sharp,  ignoring  the  surprise  on  the  faces  of 
the  ladies,  complied,  and  passed  the  bottle  to  Mr. 
Culpepper.  They  drank  to  each  other,  and  again  a 
flicker  of  surprise  appeared  on  the  faces  of  Mrs.  Cul- 

167 


Dual  Control 

pepper  and  her  niece.  Mr.  Culpepper,  noticing  it, 
shook  his  head  waggishly  at  Mr.  Sharp. 

"He  drinks  it  as  if  he  likes  it,"  he  remarked. 

"I  do,"  asserted  Mr.  Sharp,  and,  raising  his  glass, 
emptied  it,  and  resumed  the  attack  on  his  plate.  Mr. 
Culpepper  unscrewed  the  top  of  another  bottle,  and 
the  reckless  Mr.  Sharp,  after  helping  himself,  made 
a  short  and  feeling  speech,  in  which  he  wished  Mr. 
Culpepper  long  life  and  happiness.  "If  you  ain't 
happy  with  Mrs.  Culpepper,"  he  concluded,  gallantly, 
"you  ought  to  be." 

Mr.  Culpepper  nodded  and  went  on  eating  in 
silence  until,  the  keen  edge  of  his  appetite  having 
been  taken  off,  he  put  down  his  knife  and  fork  and 
waxed  sentimental. 

"Been  married  over  thirty  years,"  he  said,  slowly, 
with  a  glance  at  his  wife,  "and  never  regretted  it." 

"Who  hasn't?"  inquired  Mr.  Sharp. 

"Why,  me,"  returned  the  surprised  Mr.  Culpepper. 

Mr.  Sharp,  who  had  just  raised  his  glass,  put  it 
down  again  and  smiled.  It  was  a  faint  smile,  but  it 
seemed  to  affect  his  host  unfavourably. 

"What  are  you  smiling  at?"  he  demanded. 

"Thoughts,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  exchanging  a  covert 
glance  with  Florrie.  "Something  you  told  me  the 
other  day." 

Mr.  Culpepper  looked  bewildered.  "I'll  give  you 
168 


Dual  Control 

a  penny  for  them  thoughts,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of 
jocosity. 

Mr.  Sharp  shook  his  head.  "Money  couldn't  buy 
'em,"  he  said,  with  owlish  solemnity,  "espec — espe- 
cially after  the  good  supper  you're  giving  me." 

"Bert,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  uneasily,  as  his  wife 
sat  somewhat  erect — "Bert,  it's  my  birthday,  and  I 
don't  grudge  nothing  to  nobody;  but  go  easy  with 
the  beer.  You  ain't  used  to  it,  you  know." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  beer?"  inquired  Mr. 
Sharp.  "It  tastes  all  right — wkat  there  is  of  it." 

"It  ain't  the  beer;  it's  you,"  explained  Mr.  Cul- 
pepper. 

Mr.  Sharp  stared  at  him.  "Have  I  said  anything 
I  oughtn't  to  ?"  he  inquired. 

Mr.  Culpepper  shook  his  head,  and,  taking  up  a 
fork  and  spoon,  began  to  serve  a  plum-pudding  that 
Miss  Garland  had  just  placed  on  the  table. 

"What  was  it  you  said  I  was  to  be  sure  and  not 
tell  Mrs.  Culpepper  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Sharp,  dreamily. 
"I  haven't  said  that,  have  I  ?" 

"No!"  snapped  the  harassed  Mr.  Culpepper,  lay- 
ing down  the  fork  and  spoon  and  regarding  him 
ferociously.  "I  mean,  there  wasn't  anything.  I 
mean,  I  didn't  say  so.  You're  raving." 

"If  I  did  say  it,  I'm  sorry-,"  persisted  Mr.  Sharp. 
"I  can't  say  fairer  than  that,  can  I  ?" 

169 


Dual  Control 

"You're  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  trying, 
but  in  vain,  to  exchange  a  waggish  glance  with  his 
wife. 

"I  didn't  say  it?"  inquired  Mr.  Sharp. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  still  smiling  in  a 
wooden  fashion. 

"I  mean  the  other  thing?"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  in  a 
thrilling  whisper. 

"Look  here,"  exclaimed  the  overwrought  Mr.  Cul- 
pepper; "why  not  eat  your  pudding,  and  leave  off 
talking  nonsense  ?  Nobody's  listening  to  you." 

"Speak  for  yourself,"  said  his  wife,  tartly.  "I 
like  to  hear  Mr.  Sharp  talk.  What  was  it  he  told 
you  not  to  tell  me  ? " 

Mr.  Sharp  eyed  her  mistily.  "I — I  can't  tell 
you,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Mrs.  Culpepper,  coaxingly. 

"Because  it — it  would  make  your  hair  stand  on 
end,"  said  the  industrious  Mr.  Sharp. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Culpepper,  sharply. 

"He  said  it  would,"  said  Mr,  Sharp,  indicating 

his  host  with  his  spoon,  "and  he  ought — to  know - 

Who's  that  kicking  me  under  the  table  ?" 

Mr.  Culpepper,  shivering  with  wrath  and  dread, 
struggled  for  speech.  "You'd  better  get  home,  Bert," 
he  said  at  last.  "You're  not  yourself.  There's  no- 
body kicking  you  under  the  table.  You  don't  know 

170 


Dual  Control 

what  you  are  saying.  You've  been  dreaming  things. 
I  never  said  anything  of  the  kind/' 

"Memory's  gone,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  shaking  his 
head  at  him.  "Clean  gone.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber- 

"NO!"  roared  Mr.  Culpepper. 

Mr.  Sharp  sat  blinking  at  him,  but  his  misgivings 
vanished  before  the  glances  of  admiring  devotion 
which  Miss  Garland  was  sending  in  his  direction. 
He  construed  them  rightly  not  only  as  a  reward,  but 
as  an  incentive  to  further  efforts.  In  the  midst  of 
an  impressive  silence  Mrs.  Culpepper  collected  the 
plates  and,  producing  a  dish  of  fruit  from  the  side- 
board, placed  it  upon  the  table. 

"Help  yourself,  Mr.  Sharp,"  she  said,  pushing  the 
bottle  of  port  towards  him. 

Mr.  Sharp  complied,  having  first,  after  several 
refusals,  put  a  little  into  the  ladies'  glasses,  and  a  lot 
on  the  tablecloth  near  Mr.  Culpepper.  Then,  after 
a  satisfying  sip  or  two,  he  rose  with  a  bland  smile 
and  announced  his  intention  of  making  a  speech. 

"  But  you've  made  one,"  said  his  host,  in  tones  of 
fierce  expostulation. 

"That — that  was  las9  night,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 
"This  is  to-night — your  birthday." 

"Well,  we  don't  want  any  more,"  said  Mr.  Cul- 
pepper. 


Dual  Control 

Mr.  Sharp  hesitated.  "It's  only  his  fun,"  he  said, 
looking  round  and  raising  his  glass.  "He's  afraid 
I'm  going  to  praise  him  up — praise  him  up.  Here's 
to  my  old  freind,  Mr.  Culpepper:  one  of  the  best. 
We  all  have  our — faults,  and  he  has  his — has  his. 
Where  was  I  ?" 

"Sit  down,"  growled  Mr.  Culpepper. 

"Talking  about  my  husband's  faults,"  said  his 
wife. 

"So  I  was,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  putting  his  hand  to 
his  brow.  "Dont  be  alarm',"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing to  his  host;  "nothing  to  be  alarm'  about.  I'm 
not  going  to  talk  about  'em.  Not  so  silly  as  that,  I 
hope.  I  don't  want  spoil  your  life." 

"Sit  down,"  repeated  Mr.  Culpepper. 

"You're  very  anxious  he  should  sit  down,"  said 
his  wife,  sharply. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper;  "only  he's 
talking  nonsense." 

Mr.  Sharp,  still  on  his  legs,  took  another  sip  of 
port  and,  avoiding  the  eye  of  Mr.  Culpepper,  which 
was  showing  signs  of  incipient  inflammation,  looked 
for  encouragement  to  Miss  Garland. 

"He's  a  man  we  all  look  up  to  and  respect,"  he 
continued.  "If  he  does  go  off  to  London  every  now 
and  then  on  business,  that's  his  lookout.  My  idea 
is  he  always  ought  to  take  Mrs.  Culpepper  with  him. 

172 


Dual  Control 

He'd  have  pleasure  of  her  company  and,  same  time, 
he'd  be  money  in  pocket  by  it.  And  why  shouldn't 
she  go  to  music-halls  sometimes  ?  Why  shouldn't 
she " 

"You  get  off  home,"  said  the  purple  Mr.  Cul- 
pepper,  rising  and  hammering  the  table  with  his  fist. 
"Get  off  home;  and  if  you  so  much  as  show  your 
face  inside  this  *ouse  again  there'll  be  trouble.  Go 
on.  Out  you  go!" 

"Home?"  repeated  Mr.  Sharp,  sitting  down  sud- 
denly. "Won't  go  home  till  morning." 

"Oh,  we'll  soon  see  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Cul- 
pepper,  taking  him  by  the  shoulders.  "Come  on, 
now." 

Mr.  Sharp  subsided  lumpishly  into  his  chair,  and 
Mr.  Culpepper,  despite  his  utmost  efforts,  failed  to 
move  him.  The  two  ladies  exchanged  a  glance,  and 
then,  with  their  heads  in  the  air,  sailed  out  of  the 
room,  the  younger  pausing  at  the  door  to  bestow  a 
mirthful  glance  upon  Mr.  Sharp  ere  she  disappeared. 

"Come — out,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  panting. 

"You  trying  to  tickle  me?"  inquired  Mr.  Sharp. 

"You  get  off  home,"  said  the  other.  "You've 
been  doing  nothing  but  make  mischief  ever  since 
you  came  in.  What  put  such  things  into  your  silly 
head  I  don't  know.  I  shall  never  hear  the  end  of 
'em  as  long  as  I  live." 

173 


Dual  Control 

"Silly  head  ?"  repeated  Mr.  Sharp,  with  an  alarm- 
ing change  of  manner.  "Say  it  again." 

Mr.  Culpepper  repeated  it  with  gusto. 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Sharp.  He  seized  him 
suddenly  and,  pushing  him  backwards  into  his  easy- 
chair,  stood  over  him  with  such  hideous  contortions 
of  visage  that  Mr.  Culpepper  was  horrified.  "Now 
you  sit  there  and  keep  quite  still,"  he  said,  with 
smouldering  ferocity.  "Where  did  you  put  carving- 
knife  ?  Eh?  Where's  carving-knife  ?" 

"No,  no,  Bert,"  said  Mr.  Culpepper,  clutching  at 
his  sleeve.  "I — I  was  only  joking.  You — you 
ain't  quite  yourself,  Bert." 

"  What?"  demanded  the  other,  rolling  his  eyes,  and 
clenching  his  fists. 

"I — I  mean  you've  improved,"  said  Mr.Culpep- 
per,  hurriedly.  "Wonderful,  you  have." 

Mr.  Sharp's  countenance  cleared  a  little.  "Let's 
make  a  night  of  it,"  he  said.  "Don't  move,  what- 
ever you  do." 

He  closed  the  door  and,  putting  the  wine  and  a 
couple  of  glasses  on  the  mantelpiece,  took  a  chair  by 
Mr.  Culpepper  and  prepared  to  spend  the  evening. 
His  instructions  were  too  specific  to  be  disregarded, 
and  three  times  he  placed  his  arm  about  the  waist  of 
the  frenzied  Mr.  Culpepper  and  took  him  for  a  lum- 
bering dance  up  and  down  the  room.  In  the  inter- 

174 


Dual  Control 

vals  between  dances  he  regaled  him  with  interminable 
extracts  from  speeches  made  at  the  debating  society 
and  recitations  learned  at  school.  Suggestions  relat- 
ing to  bed,  thrown  out  by  Mr.  Culpepper  from  time 


He  felt  the  large  and  clumsy  hand  of  Mr.  Butler  take  him  by  the  collar 

to  time,  were  repelled  with  scorn.  And  twice,  in  def- 
erence to  Mr.  Sharp's  desires,  he  had  to  join  in  the 
chorus  of  a  song. 

Ten  o'clock  passed,  and  the  hands  of  the  clock 
crawled  round  to  eleven.  The  hour  struck,  and,  as 
though  in  answer,  the  door  opened  and  the  agreeable 

175 


Dual  Control 

face  of  Florrie  Garland  appeared.  Behind  her,  to 
the  intense  surprise  of  both  gentlemen,  loomed  the 
stalwart  figure  of  Mr.  Jack  Butler. 

"I  thought  he  might  be  useful,  uncle,"  said  Miss 
Garland,  coming  into  the  room.  "Auntie  wouldn't 
let  me  come  down  before.'* 

Mr.  Sharp  rose  in  a  dazed  fashion  and  saw  Mr. 
Culpepper  grasp  Mr.  Butler  by  the  hand.  More 
dazed  still,  he  felt  the  large  and  clumsy  hand  of  Mr. 
Butler  take  him  by  the  collar  and  propel  him  with 
some  violence  along  the  small  passage,  while  another 
hand,  which  he  dimly  recognized  as  belonging  to 
Mr.  Culpepper,  was  inserted  in  the  small  of  his  bsck. 
Then  the  front  door  opened  and  he  was  thrust  out 
into  the  night.  The  door  closed,  and  a  low  feminine 
laugh  sounded  from  a  window  above. 


176 


SKILLED  ASSISTANCE 


'I  tell  you,  I  am  as  innercent  as  a  new-born  babe" 


Skilled  Assistance 

THE  night-watchman,  who  had  left  his  seat 
on  the  jetty  to  answer  the  gate-bell,  came 
back  with  disgust  written  on  a  countenance 
only  too  well  designed  to  express  it. 

"If  she's  been  up  'ere  once  in  the  last  week  to 
know  whether  the  Silvia  is  up  she's  been  four  or 
five  times,"  he  growled.  "He's  forty-seven  if  he's  a 
day;  'is  left  leg  is  shorter  than  'is  right,  and  he  talks 
with  a  stutter.  When  she's  with  'im  you'd  think  as 
butter  wouldn't  melt  in  'er  mouth;  but  the  way  she 
talked  to  me  just  now  you'd  think  I  was  paid  a-pur- 
pose  to  wait  on  her.  I  asked  'er  at  last  wot  she 
thought  I  was  here  for,  and  she  said  she  didn't  know, 
and  nobody  else  neither.  And  afore  she  went  off  she 
told  the  potman  from  the  'Albion,'  wot  was  listening, 
that  I  was  known  all  over  Wapping  as  the  Sleeping 
Beauty. 

c'She  ain't  the  fust  I've  'ad  words  with,  not  by  a 
lot.  They're  all  the  same;  they  all  start  in  a  nice, 
kind,  soapy  sort  o'  way,  and,  as  soon  as  they  don't 
get  wot  they  want,  fly  into  a  temper  and  ask  me  who 
I  think  I  am.  I  told  one  woman  once  not  to  be  silly, 

179 


Skilled  Assistance 

and  I  shall  never  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live — never. 
For  all  I  know,  she's  wearing  a  bit  o'  my  'air  in  a 
locket  to  this  day,  and  very  likely  boasting  that  I 
gave  it  to  her. 

"Talking  of  her  remiiids  me  of  another  woman. 
There  was  a  Cap'n  Pinner,  used  to  trade  between 
'ere  and  Hull  on  a  schooner  named  the  Snipe.  Nice 
little  craft  she  was,  and  *e  was  a  very  nice  feller. 
Many  and  many's  the  pint  we've  'ad  together,  turn 
and  turn-about,  and  the  on'y  time  we  ever  'ad  a  cross 
word  was  when  somebody  hid  his  clay  pipe  in  my 
beer  and  'e  was  foolish  enough  to  think  I'd  done  it. 

"He  'ad  a  nice  little  cottage,  'e  told  me  about,  near 
Hull,  and  'is  wife's  father,  a  man  of  pretty  near 
seventy,  lived  with  'em.  Well-off  the  old  man  was, 
and,  as  she  was  his  only  daughter,  they  looked  to 
'ave  all  his  money  when  he'd  gorn.  Their  only  fear 
was  that  'e  might  marry  agin,  and,  judging  from  wot 
'e  used  to  tell  me  about  the  old  man,  I  thought  it 
more  than  likely. 

"  'If  it  wasn't  for  my  missis  he'd  ha*  been  mar- 
ried over  and  over  agin,'  he  ses  one  day.  'He's 
like  a  child  playing  with  gunpowder.' 

"  '  'Ow  would  it  be  to  let  'im  burn  hisself  a  bit  ?'  I 


ses. 
tt 


'If  you  was  to  see  some  o'  the  gunpowder  he 
wants  to  play  with,  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that,'  ses 

1 80 


Skilled  Assistance 

the  cap'n.  'You'd  know  better.  The  on'y  thing  is 
to  keep  'em  apart,  and  my  pore  missis  is  wore  to  a 
shadder  a-doing  of  it.* 

"It  was  just  about  a  month  arter  that  that  he 
brought  the  old  man  up  to  London  with  'im.  They 
'ad  some  stuff  to  put  out  at  Smith's  Wharf,  t'other 
side  of  the  river,  afore  they  came  to  us,  and  though 
they  was  on'y  there  four  or  five  days,  it  was  long 
enough  for  that  old  man  to  get  into  trouble. 

"The  skipper  told  me  about  it  ten  minutes  arter 
they  was  made  snug  in  the  inner  berth  'ere.  He 
walked  up  and  down  like  a  man  with  a  raging  tooth- 
ache, and  arter  follering  'im  up  and  down  the  wharf 
till  I  was  tired  out,  I  discovered  that  'is  father-in-law 
'ad  got  'imself  mixed  up  with  a  widder-woman  ninety 
years  old  and  weighing  twenty  stun.  Arter  he  'ad 
cooled  down  a  bit,  and  I  'ad  given  'im  a  few  little 
pats  on  the  shoulder,  'e  made  it  forty-eight  years 
old  and  fourteen  stun. 

:  'He's  getting  ready  to  go  and  meet  her  now/  he 
ses,  'and  wot  my  missis'll  say  to  me,  I  don't  know.' 

"His  father-in-law  came  up  on  deck  as  'e  spoke, 
and  began  to  brush  'imself  all  over  with  a  clothes- 
brush.  Nice-looking  little  man  'e  was,  with  blue  eyes, 
and  a  little  white  beard,  cut  to  a  point,  and  dressed 
up  in  a  serge  suit  with  brass  buttons,  and  a  white 
yachting  cap.  His  real  name  was  Mr.  Finch,  but  the 

181 


Skilled  Assistance 

skipper  called  'im  Uncle  Dick,  and  he  took  such  a 
fancy  to  me  that  in  five  minutes  I  was  calling  'im 
Uncle  Dick  too. 

'Time  I  was  moving/  he  ses,  by  and  by.     'I've 
got  an  app'intment.' 

'  'Oh!  who  with  ?'  ses  the  skipper,  pretending  not 
to  know. 

'Friend  o'  mine,  in  the  army/  ses  the  old  man, 
with  a  wink  at  me.     'So  long/ 

"He  went  off  as  spry  as  a  boy,  and  as  soon  as  he'd 
gorn  the  skipper  started  walking  back'ards  and  for- 
'ards  agin,  and  raving. 

'Let's  'ope  as  he's  on'y  amusing  'imself/  I  ses. 

'Wait  till  you  see  'er/  ses  the  skipper;   'then  you 
won't  talk  foolishness.' 

"As  it  'appened  she  came  back  with  Uncle  Dick 
that  evening,  to  see  'im  safe,  and  I  see  at  once  wot 
sort  of  a  woman  it  was.  She  'adn't  been  on  the 
wharf  five  minutes  afore  you'd  ha'  thought  it  be- 
longed to  'er,  and  when  she  went  and  sat  on  the 
schooner  it  seemed  to  be  about  'arf  its  size.  She 
called  the  skipper  Tom,  and  sat  there  as  cool  as  you 
please  holding  Uncle  Dick's  'and,  and  patting  it. 

"I  took  the  skipper  round  to  the  'Bull's  Head' 
arter  she  'ad  gorn,  and  I  wouldn't  let  'im  say  a  word 
until  he  had  'ad  two  pints.  He  felt  better  then,  and 
some  o'  the  words  'e  used  surprised  me. 

182 


Skilled  Assistance 

' Wot's  to  be  done  ?'  he  ses  at  last.  'You  see  'ow 
it  is,  Bill/ 

:  'Can't  you  get  'im  away?'  I  ses.     'Who  is  she, 
and  wot's  'er  name  ?' 

'Her  name,'  ses  the  skipper,  'her  name  is  Jane 
Maria  Elizabeth  Muffit,  and  she  lives  over  at  Roth- 
erhithe/ 

; '  She's  very  likely  married  already/  I  ses. 
: '  Her  'usband  died  ten  years  ago/  ses  the  skipper; 
'passed  away  in  'is  sleep.     Overlaid,  I  should  say/ 

"He  sat  there  smoking,  and  I  sat  there  thinking. 
Twice  'e  spoke  to  me,  and  I  held  my  'and  up  and 
said  ' H'sh.*  Then  I  turned  to  'im  all  of  a  sudden 
and  pinched  his  arm  so  hard  he  nearly  dropped  'is 
beer. 

'Is  Uncle  Dick  a  nervous  man  ?'  I  ses. 
'Nervous  is  no  name  for  it/  he  ses,  staring. 
'Very  good,  then/  I  ses.     'I'll  send  'er  husband 
to  frighten  'im/ 

"The  skipper  looked  at  me  very  strange.  'Yes/  he 
ses.  'Yes.  Yes/ 

'  Frighten  'im  out  of  'is  boots,  and  make  him  give 
'er  up/  I  ses.  'Or  better  still,  get  'im  to  run  away 
and  go  into  hiding  for  a  time.  That  'ud  be  best,  in 
case  'e  found  out/ 

;  'Found  out  wot?'  ses  the  skipper. 

:  'Found  out  it  wasn't  'er  husband/  I  ses. 

-83 


Skilled  Assistance 

'Bill/  ses  the  skipper,  very  earnest,  'this  is  the 
fust  beer  I've  Jad  to-day,  and  I  wish  I  could  say  the 
same  for  you/ 

"I  didn't  take  'im  at  fust,  but  when  I  did  I  gave  a 
laugh  that  brought  in  two  more  customers  to  see  wot 
was  the  matter.  Then  I  took  'im  by  the  arm — arter 
a  little  trouble — and,  taking  'im  back  to  the  wharf, 
explained  my  meaning  to  'im. 

'I  know  the  very  man/  I  ses.  'He  comes  into 
a  public-' ouse  down  my  way  sometimes.  Artful 
5Arry,  he's  called,  and,  for  'arf-a-quid,  say,  he'd 
frighten  Uncle  Dick  'arf  to  death.  He's  big  and  ugly, 
and  picks  up  a  living  by  selling  meerschaum  pipes 
he's  found  to  small  men  wot  don't  want  'em.  Won- 
derful gift  o'  the  gab  he's  got.' 

"We  went  acrost  to  the  'Albion'  to  talk  it  over. 
There's  several  bars  there,  and  the  landlady  always 
keeps  cotton-wool  in  'er  ears,  not  'aving  been  brought 
up  to  the  public  line.  The  skipper  told  me  all  'e 
knew  about  Mrs,  Muffit,  and  we  arranged  that  Artful 
'Arry  should  come  down  at  seven  o'clock  next  night, 
if  so  be  as  I  could  find  'im  in  time. 

"I  got  up  early  the  next  arternoon,  and  as  it  'ap- 
pened,  he  came  into  the  'Duke  of  Edinburgh'  five 
minutes  arter  I  got  there.  Nasty  temper  'e  was  in, 
too.  He'd  just  found  a  meerschaum  pipe,  as  usual, 
and  the  very  fust  man  'e  tried  to  sell  it  to  saJd  that  it 

184 


Skilled  Assistance 

was  the  one  'e  lost  last  Christmas,  and  gave  'im  a 
punch  in  the  jaw  for  it. 

'He's  a  thief,  that's  wot  he  is/  ses  'Any;  'and  I 
'ate  thiefs.  'Ow's  a  honest  tradesman  to  make  a  liv- 
ing when  there's  people  like  that  about?' 

"I  stood  'im  'arf  a  pint,  and  though  it  hurt  'im 
awful  to  drink  it,  he  said  'ed  'ave  another  just  to  see 
if  he  could  bear  the  pain.  Arter  he  had  'ad  three  'e 
began  for  to  take  a  more  cheerful  view  o'  life,  and  told 
me  about  a  chap  that  spent  three  weeks  in  the  Lon- 
don 'Orsepittle  for  calling  'im  a  liar. 

'Treat  me  fair,'  he  ses,  'and  I'll  treat  other  people 
fair.  I  never  broke  my  word  without  a  good  reason 
for  it,  and  that's  more  than  everybody  can  say.  If  I 
told  you  the  praise  I've  'ad  from  some  people  you 
wouldn't  believe  it.' 

"  I  let  'im  go  on  till  he  'ad  talked  'imself  into  a  good 
temper,  and  then  I  told  'im  of  the  little  job  I  'ad  got 
for  'im.  He  listened  quiet  till  I  'ad  finished,  and  then 
he  shook  'is  'ead. 

'  It  ain't  in  my  line,'  he  ses. 

'There's  'arf  a  quid  'anging  to  it,'  I  ses. 
'  'Any  shook    his  'ead   agin.      "Tain't  enough, 
mate/  he  ses.     'If  you  was  to  make  it  a  quid  I  won't 
say  as  I  mightn't  think  of  it.' 

"I  'ad  told  the  skipper  that  it  might  cost  'im  a 
quid,  so  I  knew  'ow  far  I  could  go;  and  at  last,  arter 


Skilled  Assistance 

'Any  'ad  got  as  far  as  the  door  three  times,  I  gave 
way. 

(  'And  I'll  'ave  it  now/  he  ses,  'to  prevent  mis- 
takes/ 

''  'No,  'Any/  I  ses,  very  firm.     'Besides,  it  ain't 
my  money,  you  see.' 

'You  mean  to  say  you  don't  trust  me/  'e  ses,  fir- 
ing up. 

'I'd  trust  you  with  untold  gold/  I  ses,  'but  not 
with  a  real  quid;  you're  too  fond  of  a  joke,  'Arry.' 

"We  'ad  another  long  argyment  about  it,  and  I  had 
to  tell  'im  plain  at  last  that  when  I  wanted  to  smell 
'is  fist,  I'd  say  so. 

'You  turn  up  at  the  wharf  at  five  minutes  to 
seven/  I  ses,  'and  I'll  give  you  ten  bob  of  it;  arter 
you've  done  your  business  I'll  give  you  the  other. 
Come  along  quiet,  and  you'll  see  me  waiting  at  the 
gate  for  you.' 

"He  gave  way  arter  a  time,  and,  fust  going  'ome 
for  a  cup  o*  tea,  I  went  on  to  the  wharf  to  tell  the 
skipper  Jow  things  stood. 

'  It  couldn't  'ave  'appened  better/  he  ses.  '  Uncle 
Dick  is  sure  to  be  aboard  at  that  time,  'cos  Vs  going 
acrost  the  water  at  eight  o'clock  to  pay  'er  a  visit. 
And  all  the  hands'll  be  away.  I've  made  sure  of 
that.' 

"He  gave  me  the  money  for  Artful  'Any  in  two 
186 


Skilled  Assistance 

*arf-suverins,  and  then  we  went  over  to  the  'Albion* 
for  a  quiet  glass  and  a  pipe,  and  to  wait  for  seven 
o'clock. 

"I  left  'im  there  at  ten  minutes  to,  and  at  five 
minutes  to,  punctual  to  the  minute,  I  see  'Any  com- 
ing along  swinging  a  thick  stick  with  a  knob  on  the 
end  of  it. 

'Where's  the  'arf  thick-un?'  he  ses,  looking 
round  to  see  that  the  coast  was  clear. 

"  I  gave  it  to  'im,  and  arter  biting  it  in  three  places 
and  saying  it  was  a  bit  short  in  weight  he  dropped  it 
in  'is  weskit-pocket  and  said  'e  was  ready. 

"  I  left  'im  there  for  a  minute  while  I  went  and  'ad 
a  look  round.  The  deck  of  the  Snipe  was  empty,  but 
I  could  'ear  Uncle  Dick  down  in  the  cabin  singing; 
and,  arter  listening  for  a  few  seconds  to  make  sure 
that  it  was  singing,  I  went  back  and  beckoned  to 
'Arry. 

'He's  down  in  the  cabin,'  I  ses,  pointing.  'Don't 
overdo  it,  'Arry,  and  at  the  same  time  don't  underdo 
it,  as  you  might  say.' 

'I  know  just  wot  you  want,'  ses  'Arry,  'and  if 
you'd  got  the  'art  of  a  man  in  you,  you'd  make  it  two 
quids.' 

"He  climbed  on  board  and  stood  listening  for  a 
moment  at  the  companion,  and  then  'e  went  down, 
while  I  went  off  outside  the  gate,  so  as  to  be  out  of 
earshot  in  case  Uncle  Dick  called  for  me.  I  knew 


Skilled  Assistance 

that  I  should  'ear  all  about  wot  went  on  arterwards 
— and  I  did. 

"Artful  'Any  went  down  the  companion-ladder 
very  quiet,  and  then  stood  at  the  foot  of  it  looking  at 
Uncle  Dick.     He  looked  'im  up  and  down  and  all 
over,  and  then  'e  gave  a  fierce,  loud  cough. 
'  'Good-evening/  he  ses. 

'  'Good-evening/  ses  Uncle  Dick,  staring  at  *im. 
'Did  you  want  to  see  anybody?' 

"  'I  did/  ses  'Any.  'I  do.  And  when  I  see  'im 
I'm  going  to  put  my  arms  round  'im  and  twist  'is 
neck;  then  I'm  going  to  break  every  bone  in  'is 
body,  and  arter  that  I'm  going  to  shy  'im  overboard  to 
pison  the  fishes  with/ 

:  'Dear  me!'  ses  Uncle  Dick,  shifting  away  as  far 
as  'e  could. 

'  I  ain't  'ad  a  wink  o'  sleep  for  two  nights/  ses 
'Arry — 'not  ever  since  I  'card  of  it.  When  I  think  of 
all  I've  done  for  that  woman — working  for  'er,  and 
such-Hke — my  blood  boils.  When  I  think  of  her  pass- 
ing 'erself  off  as  a  widder — my  widder — and  going 
out  with  another  man,  I  don't  know  wot  to  do  with 
myself.' 

"Uncle  Dick  started  and  turned  pale.  Fust  'e 
seemed  as  if  'e  was  going  to  speak,  and  then  'e 
thought  better  of  it.  He  sat  staring  at  'Arry  as  if  'e 
couldn't  believe  his  eyes. 

'Wot  would  you  do  with  a  man  like  that?'  ses 
188 


Skilled  Assistance 

'Any.     'I  ask  you,  as  man  to  man,  wot  would  you 
do  to  'im  ?' 

"'P'r'aps — pYaps  'e  didn't  know/  ses  Uncle 
Dick,  stammering. 

'Didn't  know!'  ses  'Any.  'Don't  care,  you 
mean.  We've  got  a  nice  little  'ome,  and,  just  be- 
cause I've  'ad  to  leave  it  and  lay  low  for  a  bit  for 
knifing  a  man,  she  takes  advantage  of  it.  And  it 
ain't  the  fust  time,  neither.  Wot's  the  matter?' 

'Touch — touch  of  ague;  I  get  it  sometimes,'  ses 
Uncle  Dick. 

'I  want  to  see  this  man  Finch,'  ses  'Arry,  shak- 
ing 'is  knobby  stick.  'Muffit,  my  name  is,  and  I 
want  to  tell  'im  so.' 

"Uncle  Dick  nearly  shook  'imself  on  to  the  floor. 

'I — I'll  go  and  see  if 'e's  in  the  fo'c'sle/  he  ses  at 
last. 

'He  ain't  there,  'cos  I've  looked,'  ses  'Arry,  *arf 
shutting  'is  eyes  and  looking  at  'im  hard.  'Wot 
might  your  name  be  ?' 

"My  name's  Finch/  ses  Uncle  Dick,  putting  out 
his  'ands  to  keep  him  off;  'but  I  thought  she  was  a 
widder.  She  told  me  her  'usband  died  ten  years  ago; 
she's  deceived  me  as  well  as  you.  I  wouldn't  ha* 
dreamt  of  taking  any  notice  of  'er  if  I'd  known. 
Truth,  I  wouldn't.  I  should'nt  ha'  dreamt  of  such 
a  thing.' 

1 80 


Skilled  Assistance 

"Artful  'Any  played  with  'is  stick  a  little,  and 
stood  looking  at  'im  with  a  horrible  look  on  'is 
face. 

'  'Ow  am  I  to  know  you' re  speaking  the  truth  ?' 
he  ses,  very  slow.  ' Eh?  'Ow  can  you  prove  it  ?' 

'If  it  was  the  last  word  I  was  to  speak  I'd  say 
the  same/  ses  Uncle  Dick.  'I  tell  you,  I  am  as  in- 
nercent  as  a  new-born  babe/ 

'If  that's  true/  ses  'Any,  'she's  deceived  both  of 
us.  Now,  if  I  let  you  go  will  you  go  straight  off  and 
bring  her  'ere  to  me  ?' 

'I  will/  ses  Uncle  Dick,  jumping  up. 

'  'Arf  a  mo/  ses  'Arry,  holding  up  'is  stick  very 
quick.  'One  thing  is,  if  you  don't  come  back,  I'll 
'ave  you  another  day.  I  can't  make  up  my  mind 
wot  to  do.  I  can't  think — I  ain't  tasted  food  for  two 
days.  If  I  'ad  any  money  in  my  pocket  I'd  'ave  a 
bite  while  you're  gone.' 

'Why  not  get  something?'  ses  Uncle  Dick,  put- 
ting his  'and  in  his  pocket,  in  a  great  'urry  to  please 
him,  and  pulling  out  some  silver. 

'  'Arry  said  'e  would,  and  then  he  stood  on  one 
side  to  let  'im  pass,  and  even  put  the  knobby  stick 
under  'im  to  help  'im  up  the  companion-ladder. 

"Uncle  Dick  passed  me  two  minutes  arterwards 
without  a  word,  and  set  off  down  the  road  as  fast  as 
'is  little  legs  'ud  carry  'im.  I  watched  'im  out  o' 

i  go 


Skilled  Assistance 

sight,  and  then  I  went  on  board  the  schooner  to  se« 
how  'Any  'ad  got  on. 

"  '  'Any/  I  ses,  when  he  'ad  finished,  'you're  a 
masterpiece!' 

"  'I  know  I  am/  he  ses.  'Wot  about  that  other 
'arf-quid?' 

"  'Here  it  is/  I  ses,  giving  it  to  'im.  'Fair master- 
piece, that's  wot  you  are.  They  may  well  call  you 
Artful.  Shake  'ands.' 

"I  patted  'im  on  the  shoulder  arter  we  'ad  shook 
'ands,  and  we  stood  there  smiling  at  each  other  and 
paying  each  other  compliments. 

"  'Fancy  'em  sitting  'ere  and  waiting  for  you  to 
come  back  from  that  bite/  I  ses. 

"  'I  ought  to  '*ave  'ad  more  off  of  him/  ses  'Any. 
"Owever,  it  can't  be  helped.  I  think  I'll  'ave  a  lay 
down  for  a  bit;  I'm  tired.' 

"  'Better  be  off/  I  ses,  shaking  my  'ead.  'Time 
passes,  and  they  might  come  back  afore  you  think.' 

"'Well,  wot  of  it?'  ses 'Any. 

"  '  Wot  of  it?'  I  ses.  'Why,  it  'ud  spoil  everything. 
It  'ud  be  blue  ruin.' 

'  'Are  you  sure  ?'  ses  'Any*. 
'  'Sartin/  I  ses. 

'Well,  make  it  five  quid,  and  I'll  go,  then/  he  ses, 
sitting  down  agin. 

"I  couldn't  believe  my  ears  at  fust,  but  when  I 
191 


Skilled  Assistance 

could  I  drew  myself  up  and  told  'im  wot  I  thought  of 
'im;   and  he  sat  there  and  laughed  at  me. 

"  'Why,  you  called  me  a  masterpiece  just  now/  he 
ses.     'I  shouldn't  be  much  of  a  masterpiece  if  I  let 
a  chance  like  this  slip.     Why,  I  shouldn't  be  able  to 
look  myself  in  the  face.     Where's  the  skipper?' 
:  'Sitting  in  the  "Albion",'  I  ses,  'arf  choking. 
!  'Go  and  tell  'im  it's  five  quid,'  ses  'Any.     'I 
don't  mean  five  more,  on'y  four.     Some  people  would 
ha'  made  it  five,  but  I  like  to  deal  square  and  hon- 
est.' 

"  I  run  over  for  the  skipper  in  a  state  of  mind  that 
don't  bear  thinking  of,  and  he  came  back  with  me, 
'arf  crazy.  When  we  got  to  the  cabin  we  found  the 
door  was  locked,  and,  arter  the  skipper  'ad  told  Art- 
ful wot  he'd  do  to  'im  if  he  didn't  open  it,  he  'ad  to 
go  on  deck  and  talk  to  'im  through  the  skylight. 

*  If  you  ain't  off  of  my  ship  in  two  twos,'  he  ses, 
Til  fetch  a  policeman.' 

'You  go  and  fetch  four  pounds,'  ses  'Arry; 
'that's  wot  I'm  waiting  for,  not  a  policeman.  Didn't 
the  watchman  tell  you  ?' 

'The  bargain  was  for  one  pound,'  ses  the  skipper, 
'ardly  able  to  speak. 

'Well,  you  tell  that  to  the  policeman,'  ses  Artful 
'Arry. 

"It  was  no  use,  he'd  got  us  every  way;  and  at  last 
192 


Skilled  Assistance 

the  skipper  turns  out  'is  pockets,  and  he  ses,  'Look 
'ere,'  he  ses,  'I've  got  seventeen  and  tenpence  ha' 
penny.  Will  you  go  if  I  give  you  that  ?' 

"Ow  much  has  the  watchman  got?'  ses  'Airy. 
'His  lodger  lost  'is  purse  the  other  day.' 

"I'd  got  two  and  ninepence,  as  it  'appened,  and 
then  there  was  more  trouble  because  the  skipper 
wouldn't  give  'im  the  money  till  he  'ad  gone,  and 
'e  wouldn't  go  till  he  'ad  got  it.  The  skipper  gave 
way  at  last,  and  as  soon  as  he  'ad  got  it  'Arry  ses, 
'Now  'op  off  and  borrer  the  rest,  and  look  slippy 
about  it.' 

"I  put  one  hand  over  the  skipper's  mouth  fust,  and 
then,  finding  that  was  no  good,  I  put  the  other.  It 
was  no  good  wasting  bad  langwidge  on  'Arry. 

"I  pacified  the  skipper  at  last,  and  arter  'Arry  'ad 
swore  true  'e'd  go  when  'e'd  got  the  money,  the  skipper 
rushed  round  to  try  and  raise  it.  It's  a  difficult  job 
at  the  best  o'  times,  and  I  sat  there  on  the  skylight 
shivering  and  wondering  whether  the  skipper  or 
Mrs.  Muffit  would  turn  up  fust. 

"Hours  seemed  to  pass  away,  and  then  I  see  the 
wicket  in  the  gate  open,  and  the  skipper  come  through. 
He  jumped  on  deck  without  a  word,  and  then,  going 
over  to  the  skylight,  'anded  down  the  money  to  'Arry. 
'  Right-o,'  ses  'Arry.  '  It  on'y  shows  you  wot  you 
can  do  by  trying.' 

193 


Skilled  Assistance 

"He  unlocked  the  door  and  came  up  on  deck,  look- 
ing at  us  very  careful,  and  playing  with  'is  stick. 

'You've  got  your  money,'  ses  the  skipper;  '  now 
go  as  quick  as  you  can.' 

'  'Any  smiled  and  nodded  at  him.  Then  he 
stepped  on  to  the  wharf  and  was  just  moving  to  the 
gate,  with  us  follering,  when  the  wicket  opened  and 
in  came  Mrs.  Muffit  and  Uncle  Dick. 

'There  he  is,'  ses  Uncle  Dick.     'That's  the  man!* 
"Mrs.  Muffit  walked  up  to  'im,  and  my  'art  a'most 
stopped  beating.     Her  face  was  the  colour  of  beet- 
root with  temper,  and  you  could  'ave  heard   her 
breath  fifty  yards  away. 

:  'Ho!'  she  says,  planting  'erself  in  front  of  Artful 
'Any,  'so  you're  the  man  that  ses  you're  my  'usband, 
are  you?' 

'That's  all  right,'  ses  'Any,  'it's  all  a  mistake.' 
"  'MISTAKE  ?'  ses  Mrs.  Muffit. 
"  'Mistake  o'  Bill's,'  ses  'Any,  pointing  to  me.     'I 
told  'im  I  thought  'e  was  wrong,  but  'e  would  'ave  it. 
I've  got  a  bad  memory,  so  I  left  it  to  'im.' 

"'Ho!*  ses  Mrs.  Muffit,  taking  a  deep  breath. 
'Ho!  I  thought  as  much.  Wot  'ave  you  got  to  say 
for  yourself — eh  ?' 

"She  turned  on  me  like  a  wild  cat,  with  her  'ands 
in  front  of  her.  I've  been  scratched  once  in  my  life, 
and  I  wasn't  going  to  be  agin,  so,  fixing  my  eyes  on 

194 


**And  next  moment  I  went  over  back'ards  in  twelve  foot  of  water" 


Skilled  Assistance 

*er,  I  just  stepped  back  a  bit,  ready  for  'er.  So  long 
as  I  kept  my  eye  fixed  on  'ers  she  couldn't  do  any- 
thing. I  knew  that.  Unfortunately  I  stepped  back 
just  a  inch  too  far,  and  next  moment  I  went  over 
back'ards  in  twelve  foot  of  water. 

"Arter  all,  p'r'aps  it  was  the  best  thing  that  could 
have  'appened  to  me;  it  stopped  her  talking.  It 
ain't  the  fust  time  I've  'ad  a  wet  jacket;  but  as  for 
the  skipper,  and  pore  Uncle  Dick — wot  married  her 
— they've  been  in  hot  water  ever  since. 


196 


FOR  BETTER  OR  WORSE 


His  friend  complied 


For  Better  or  Worse 

MR.  GEORGE  WOTTON,  gently  pushing 
the  swing  doors  of  the  public  bar  of  the 
"King's  Head"  an  inch  apart,  applied  an 
eye  to  the  aperture,  in  the  hope  of  discovering  a 
moneyed  friend.     His  gaze  fell  on  the  only  man  in 
the  bar,  a  greybeard  of  sixty,  whose  weather-beaten 
face  and  rough  clothing  spoke  of  the  sea.     With  a 
faint  sigh  he  widened  the  opening  and  passed  through. 

"Mornin',  Ben,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at 
cheerfulness. 

"Have  a  drop  with  me,"  said  the  other,  heartily. 
"Got  any  money  about  you?" 

Mr.  Wotton  shook  his  head  and  his  face  fell,  clear- 
ing somewhat  as  the  other  handed  him  his  mug. 
"Drink  it  all  up,  George,"  he  said. 

His  friend  complied.  A  more  tactful  man  might 
have  taken  longer  over  the  job,  but  Mr.  Benjamin 
Davis,  who  appeared  to  be  labouring  under  some 
strong  excitement,  took  no  notice. 

"I've  had  a  shock,  George,"  he  said,  regarding  the 
other  steadily.  "I've  heard  news  of  my  old  woman." 

"Didn't  know  you  'ad  one,"  said  Mr.  Wotton 
calmly.  "Wot's  she  done?" 

199 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"She  left  me,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  solemnly — "she 
left  me  thirty-five  years  ago.  I  went  off  to  sea  one 
fine  morning,  and  that  was  the  last  I  ever  see  of 
'er." 

"Why,  did  she  bolt?'*  inquired  Mr.  Wotton,  with 
mild  interest. 

"No,"  said  his  friend,  "but  I  did.  We'd  been 
married  three  years — three  long  years — and  I  had 
'ad  enough  of  it.  Awful  temper  she  had.  The  last 
words  I  ever  heard  'er  say  was:  'Take  that!'  ; 

Mr.  Wotton  took  up  the  mug  and,  after  satisfy- 
ing himself  as  to  the  absence  of  contents,  put  it  down 
again  and  yawned. 

"I  shouldn't  worry  about  it  if  I  was  you,"  he  re- 
marked. "She's  hardly  likely  to  find  you  now. 
And  if  she  does  she  won't  get  much." 

Mr.  Davis  gave  vent  to  a  contemptuous  laugh. 
"Get  much!"  he  repeated.  "It's  her  what's  got  it, 
I  met  a  old  shipmate  of  mine  this  morning  what  I 
'adn't  seen  for  ten  years,  and  he  told  me  he  runacrost 
'er  only  a  month  ago.  After  she  left  me " 

"But  you  said  you  left  her!"  exclaimed  his  listen- 
ing friend. 

"Same  thing,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  impatiently. 
"After  she  left  me  to  work  myself  to  death  at  sea, 
running  here  and  there  at  the  orders  of  a  pack  o'lazy 
scuts  aft,  she  went  into  service  and  stayed  in  one 

200 


For  Better  or  Worse 

place  for  fifteen  years.  Then  'er  missis  died  and  left 
her  all  'er  money.  For  twenty  years,  while  I've  been 
working  myself  to  skin  and  bone,  she's  been  living 
in  comfort  and  idleness." 

'  'Ard  lines,"  said  Mr.  Wotton,  shaking  his  head. 
"It  don't  bear  thinking  of." 

"Why  didn't  she  advertise  for  me?"  said  Mr. 
Davis,  raising  his  voice.  ;{ That's  what  I  want  to 
know.  Advertisements  is  cheap  enough;  why  didn't 
she  advertise  ?  I  should  'ave  come  at  once  if  she'd 
said  anything  about  money." 

Mr.  Wotton  shook  his  head  again.  "PYaps  she 
didn't  want  you,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  demanded  the 
other.  "It  was  'er  dooty.  She'd  got  money,  and  I 
ought  to  have  'ad  my  'arf  of  it.  Nothing  can  make 
up  for  that  wasted  twenty  years — nothing." 

"  P'r'aps  she'll  take  you  back,"  said  Mr.  Wotton. 

"Take  me  back?"  repeated  Mr.  Davis.  "O* 
course  she'll  take  me  back.  She'll  have  to.  There's 
a  law  in  the  land,  ain't  there  ?  What  I'm  thinking 
of  is:  Can  I  get  back  my  share  what  I  ought  to  have 
'ad  for  the  last  twenty  years  ?" 

"Get  'er  to  take  you  back  first,"  counselled  his 
friend.  "Thirty-five  years  is  a  long  time,  and  p'r'aps 
she  has  lost  'er  love  for  you.  Was  you  good-looking 
in  those  days?" 

201 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"Yes,"  snapped  Mr.  Davis;  "I  ain't  altered  much. 
'Sides,  what  about  her?" 

"That  ain't  the  question,"  said  the  other.  "She's 
got  a  home  and  money.  It  don't  matter  about  'er 
looks;  and,  wot's  more,  she  ain't  bound  to  keep  you. 
If  you  take  my  advice,  you  won't  dream  of  letting  her 
know  you  run  away  from  her.  Say  you  was  cast 
away  at  sea,  and  when  you  came  back  years  after- 
wards you  couldn't  find  her." 

Mr.  Davis  pondered  for  some  time  in  sulky  silence. 

"PYaps  it  would  be  as  well,"  he  said  at  last;  "but 
I  sha'n't  stand  no  nonsense,  mind." 

"If  you  like  I'll  come  with  you,"  said  Mr.Wotton. 
"I  ain't  got  nothing  to  do.  I  could  tell  'er  I  was  cast 
away  with  you  if  you  liked.  Anything  to  help  a  pal." 

Mr.  Davis  took  two  inches  of  soiled  clay  pipe  from 
his  pocket  and  puffed  thoughtfully. 

"You  can  come,"  he  said  at  last.  "If  you'd  only 
got  a  copper  or  two  we  could  ride;  it's  down  Clap- 
ham  way." 

Mr.  Wotton  smiled  feebly,  and  after  going  care- 
fully through  his  pockets  shook  his  head  and  followed 
his  friend  outside. 

"I  wonder  whether  she'll  be  pleased?"  he  re- 
marked, as  they  walked  slowly  along.  "She  might 
be — women  are  funny  creatures — so  faithful.  I 
knew  one  whose  husband  used  to  knock  'er  about 

202 


For  Better  or  Worse 

dreadful,  and  after  he  died  she  was  so  true  to  his 
memory  she  wouldn't  marry  again." 

Mr.  Davis  grunted,  and,  with  a  longing  eye  at  the 
omnibuses  passing  over  London  Bridge,  asked  a 
policeman  the  distance  to  Clapham. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Wotton,  as  his  friend  ut- 
tered an  exclamation.  "You'll  have  money  in  your 
pocket  soon." 

Mr.  Davis's  face  brightened.  "And  a  watch  and 
chain  too,"  he  said. 

"And  smoke  your  cigar  of  a  Sunday,"  said  Mr. 
Wotton,  "and  have  a  easy-chair  and  a  glass  for  a 
friend." 

Mr.  Davis  almost  smrled,  and  then,  suddenly  re- 
membering his  wasted  twenty  years,  shook  his  head 
grimly  over  the  friendship  that  attached  itself  to  easy- 
chairs  and  glasses  of  ale,  and  said  that  there  was 
plenty  of  it  about.  More  friendship  than  glasses  of 
ale  and  easy-chairs,  perhaps. 

At  Clapham,  they  inquired  the  way  of  a  small  boy, 
and,  after  following  the  road  indicated,  retraced 
their  steps,  cheered  by  a  faint  but  bloodthirsty  hope 
of  meeting  him  again. 

A  friendly  baker  put  them  on  the  right  track  at 
last,  both  gentlemen  eyeing  the  road  with  a  mixture 
of  concern  and  delight.  Irwas  a  road  of  trim  semi- 
detached villas,  each  with  a  well-kept  front  garden 

203 


For  Better  or  Worse 

and  neatly-curtained  windows.  At  the  gate  of  a 
house  with  the  word  "Blairgowrie"  inscribed  in  huge 
gilt  letters  on  the  fanlight  Mr.  Davis  paused  for  a 
moment  uneasily,  and  then,  walking  up  the  path, 
followed  by  Mr.  Wotton,  knocked  at  the  door. 

He  retired  a  step  in  disorder  before  the  apparition 
of  a  maid  in  cap  and  apron.  A  sharp  "Not  to-day!" 
sounded  in  his  ears  and  the  door  closed  again.  He 
faced  his  friend  gasping. 

"I  should  give  her  the  sack  first  thing,"  said  Mr. 
Wotton. 

Mr.  Davis  knocked  again,  and  again.  The  maid 
reappeared,  and  after  surveying  them  through  the 
glass  opened  the  door  a  little  way  and  parleyed. 

"I  want  to  see  your  missis,"  said  Mr.  Davis, 
fiercely. 

"What  for?"  demanded  the  girl. 

"You  tell  *er,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  inserting  his  foot 
just  in  time,  "you  tell  'er  that  there's  two  gentlemen 
here  what  have  brought  'er  news  of  her  husband,  and 
look  sharp  about  it." 

"They  was  cast  away  with  'im,"  said  Mr.  Wotton. 

"On  a  desert  island,"  said  Mr.  Davis.  He  pushed 
his  way  in,  followed  by  his  friend,  and  a  head  that 
had  been  leaning  over  the  banisters  was  suddenly 
withdrawn.  For  a  moment  he  stood  irresolute  in 
the  tiny  passage,  and  then,  with  a  husband's  bold- 

204 


For  Better  or  Worse 

ness,  he  entered  the  front  room  and  threw  himself 
into    an    easy-chair.     Mr.    Wotton,    after   a    scared 


"  You  tell  'er  that  there's  two  gentlemen  here  what  have  brought  'er 
news  of  her  husband  " 

glance  around  the  well-furnished  room,  seated  him- 
self on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  most  uncomfortable 
chair  he  could  find  and  coughed  nervously. 

205 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"Better  not  be  too  sudden  with  her,"  he  whispered. 
"You  don't  want  her  to  faint,  or  anything  of  that 
sort.  Don't  let  'er  know  who  you  are  at  first;  let 
her  find  it  out  for  herself." 

Mr.  Davis,  who  was  also  suffering  from  the  stiff 
grandeur  of  his  surroundings,  nodded. 

"P'r'aps  you'd  better  start,  in  case  she  reckernizes 
my  voice,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  Pitch  it  in  strong  about 
me  and  'ow  I  was  always  wondering  what  had  'ap- 
pened  to  her." 

"You're  in  luck,  that's  wot  you  are,"  said  his 
friend,  enviously.  "I've  only  seen  furniture  like  this 
in  shop  windows  before.  H'sh  !  Here  she  comes." 

He  started,  and  both  men  tried  to  look  at  their  ease 
as  a  stiff  rustling  sounded  from  the  stairs.  Then  the 
door  opened  and  a  tall,  stoutly-built  old  lady  with 
white  hair  swept  into  the  room  and  stood  regarding 
them. 

Mr.  Davis,  unprepared  for  the  changes  wrought  by 
thirty-five  years,  stared  at  her  aghast.  The  black 
silk  dress,  the  gold  watch-chain,  and  huge  cameo 
brooch  did  not  help  to  reassure  him. 

"Good — good  afternoon,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Wot- 
ton,  in  a  thin  voice. 

The  old  lady  returned  the  greeting,  and,  crossing 
to  a  chair  and  seating  herself  in  a  very  upright  fashion, 
regarded  him  calmly. 

206 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"We — we  called  to  see  you  about  a  dear  old  pal — • 
friend,  I  mean,"  continued  Mr.  Wotton;  "one  o'  the 
best.  The  best." 

"Yes?"  said  the  old  lady. 

"He's  been  missing,"  said  Mr.  Wotton,  watching 
closely  for  any  symptoms  of  fainting,  "for  thir-ty-five 
years.  Thir-ty-five  years  ago — very  much  against 
his  wish — he  left  'is  young  and  handsome  wife  to  go 
for  a  sea  v'y'ge,  and  was  shipwrecked  and  cast  away 
on  a  desert  island." 

"Yes?"  said  the  old  lady  again. 

"I  was  cast  away  with  Jim,"  said  Mr.  Wotton. 
"Both  of  us  was  cast  away  with  him." 

He  indicated  Mr.  Davis  with  his  hand,  and  the  old 
lady,  after  a  glance  at  that  gentleman,  turned  to  Mr. 
Wotton  again. 

"We  was  on  that  island  for  longer  than  I  like  to 
think  of,"  continued  Mr.  Wotton,  who  had  a  whole- 
some dread  of  dates.  "  But  we  was  rescued  at  last, 
and  ever  since  then  he  has  been  hunting  high  and  low 
for  his  wife." 

"It's  very  interesting,"  murmured  the  old  lady; 
"but  what  has  it  got  to  do  with  me  ?" 

Mr.  Wotton  gasped,  and  cast  a  helpless  glance  at 
his  friend. 

"You  ain't  heard  his  name  yet,"  he  said,  impres- 
sively. "Wot  would  you  say  if  I  said  it  was — Ben 
Davis?" 

207 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"I  should  say  it  wasn't  true,"  said  the  old  lady, 
promptly. 

"Not — true?"  said  Mr.  Wotton,  catching  his 
breath  painfully.  "Wish  I  may  die ' 

"About  the  desert  island,"  continued  the  old  lady, 
calmly.  "The  story  that  I  heard  was  that  he  went 
off  like  a  cur  and  left  his  young  wife  to  do  the  best 
she  could  for  herself.  I  suppose  he's  heard  since  that 
she  has  come  in  for  a  bit  of  money." 

"Money!"  repeated  Mr.  Wotton,  in  a  voice  that 
he  fondly  hoped  expressed  artless  surprise.  "Money!" 

"Money,"  said  the  old  lady;  "and  I  suppose  he 
sent  you  two  gentlemen  round  to  see  how  the  land 
lay." 

She  was  looking  full  at  Mr.  Davis  as  she  spoke, 
and  both  men  began  to  take  a  somewhat  sombre  view 
of  the  situation. 

"You  didn't  know  him,  else  you  wouldn't  talk 
like  that,"  said  Mr.  Wotton.  "  I  don't  suppose  you'd 
know  *im  if  you  was  to  see  him  now." 

"I  don't  suppose  I  should,"  said  the  other. 

"P'r'aps  you'd  reckernize  his  voice?'1*  said  Mr. 
Davis,  breaking  silence  at  last. 

Mr.  Wotton  held  his  breath,  but  the  old  lady 
merely  shook  her  head  thoughtfully.  "It  was  a 
disagreeable  voice  when  his  wife  used  to  hear  it,"  she 
said  at  last.  "Always  fault-finding,  when  it  wasn't 
swearing." 

208 


For  Better  or  Worse 

Mr.  Wotton  glanced  at  his  friend,  and,  raising  his 
eyebrows  slightly,  gave  up  his  task. 

"Might  ha'  been  faults  on  both  sides,"  said  Mr. 


"  Don't  you  know  me,  Mary  ?  " 

Davis,  gruffly.     "  You  weren't  all  that  you  should  ha* 
been,  you  know." 

"Me!"  said  his  hostess,  raising  her  voice. 

"Yes,  you,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  rising.  "Don't  you 
know  me,  Mary  ?  Why,  I  knew  you  the  moment  you 
come  into  the  room." 

209 


For  Better  or  Worse 

He  moved  towards  her  awkwardly,  but  she  rose 
in  her  turn  and  drew  back. 

"If  you  touch  me  I'll  scream,"  she  said,  firmly. 
"How  dare  you.  Why,  I've  never  seen  you  before 
in  my  life." 

"It's  Ben  Davis,  ma'am;  it's  'im,  right  enough," 
said  Mr.  Wotton,  meekly. 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"Look  at  me!"  commanded  Mr.  Davis,  sternly. 
"Look  at  me  straight  in  the  eye." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  the  other,  sharply. 
"  Look  you  in  the  eye,  indeed !  I  don't  want  to  look 
in  your  eye.  What  would  people  think  ?" 

"Let  'em  think  wot  they  like,"  said  Mr.  Davis, 
recklessly.  "This  is  a  nice  home-coming  after  being 
away  thirty-five  years." 

"Most  of  it  on  a  desert  island,"  put  in  Mr.  Wot- 
ton, pathetically. 

"And  now  I've  come  back,"  resumed  Mr.  Davis; 
"come  back  to  stop." 

He  hung  his  cap  on  a  vase  on  the  mantelpiece  that 
reeled  under  the  shock,  and,  dropping  into  his  chair 
again,  crossed  his  legs  and  eyed  her  sternly.  Her 
gaze  was  riveted  on  his  dilapidated  boots.  She 
looked  up  and  spoke  mildly. 

"You're  not  my  husband,"  she  said.  "You've 
made  a  mistake — I  think  you  had  better  go." 

210 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"Ho!"  said  Mr.  Davis,  with  a  hard  laugh.  "In- 
deed! And  'ow  do  you  know  I'm  not?" 

"For  the  best  of  reasons,"  was  the  reply.  "Be- 
sides, how  can  you  prove  that  you  are  ?  Thirty-five 
years  is  a  long  time." 

'  'Specially  on  a  desert  island,"  said  Mr.  Wotton, 
rapidly.  "You'd  be  surprised  'ow  slow  the  time 
passes.  I  was  there  with  'im,  and  I  can  lay  my  hand 
on  my  'art  and  assure  you  that  that  is  your  husband." 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  the  old  lady,  vigorously.  "  Rub- 
bish!" 

"I  can  prove  it,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  fixing  her  with 
a  glittering  eye.  "Do  you  remember  the  serpent 
I  'ad  tattooed  on  my  leg  for  a  garter  ?" 

"If  you  don't  go  at  once,"  said  the  old  lady,  hastily, 
"I'll  send  for  the  police." 

"You  used  to  admire  it,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  reproach- 
fully. "I  remember  once " 

"If  you  say  another  word,"  said  the  other,  in  a 
fierce  voice,  "I'll  send  straight  off  for  the  police. 
You  and  your  serpents!  I'll  tell  my  husband  of  you, 
that's  what  I'll  do." 

"Your  WHAT  ?"  roared  Mr.  Davis,  springing  to  his 
feet. 

"My  husband.  He  won't  stand  any  of  your  non- 
sense, I  can  tell  you.  You'd  better  go  before  he 
comes  in." 

211 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"O-oh,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  taking  a  long  breath. 
"Oh,  so  you  been  and  got  married  again,  'ave  you? 
That's  your  love  for  your  husband  as  was  cast  away 
while  trying  to  earn  a  living  for  you.  That's  why 
you  don't  want  me,  is  it  ?  We'll  see.  I'll  wait  for 
him." 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  said 
the  other,  with  great  dignity.  "I've  only  been  mar- 
ried once." 

Mr.  Davis  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his 
eyes  in  a  dazed  fashion  and  stared  at  her. 

"Is — is  somebody  passing  himself  off  as  me  ?"  he 
demanded.  "'Cos  if  he  is  I'll  'ave  you  both  up  for 
bigamy." 

"Certainly  not." 

"But— but " 

Mr.  Davis  turned  and  looked  blankly  at  his  friend. 
Mr.  Wotton  met  his  gaze  with  dilated  eyes. 

"You  say  you  recognize  me  as  your  wife  ?"  said  the 
old  lady. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  hotly. 

"It's  very  curious,"  said  the  other — "very.  But 
are  you  sure  ?  Look  again." 

Mr.  Davis  thrust  his  face  close  to  hers  and  stared 
hard.  She  bore  his  scrutiny  without  flinching. 

"I'm  positive  certain,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  taking  a 
breath. 

212 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"That's  very  curious,"  said  the  old  lady;  "but, 
then,  I  suppose  we  are  a  bit  alike.  You  see,  Mrs. 
Davis  being  away,  I'm  looking  after  her  house  for 
a  bit.  My  name  happens  to  be  Smith." 

Mr.  Davis  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation,  and,  falling 
back  a  step,  stared  at  her  open-mouthed. 

"We  all  make  mistakes,"  urged  Mr.  Wotton,  after 
a  long  silence,  "and  Ben's  sight  ain't  wot  it  used  to 
be.  He  strained  it  looking  out  for  a  sail  when  we 
was  on  that  desert " 

"When — when'll  she  be  back?"  inquired  Mr. 
Davis,  finding  his  voice  at  last. 

The  old  lady  affected  to  look  puzzled.  "But  I 
thought  you  were  certain  that  I  was  your  wife  ?"  she 
said,  smoothly. 

"My  mistake,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  ruefully.  "Thirty- 
five  years  is  a  long  time  and  people  change  a  bit;  I 
have  myself.  For  one  thing,  I  must  say  I  didn't  ex- 
pect to  find  'er  so  stout." 

"Stout!"  repeated  the  other,  quickly. 

"Not  that  I  mean  you're  too  stout,"  said  Mr.  Davis, 
hurriedly — "for  people  that  like  stoutness,  that  is. 
My  wife  used  to  'ave  a  very  good  figger." 

Mr.  Wotton  nodded.  "He  used  to  rave  about  it 
on  that  des " 

"When  will  she  be  back?"  inquired  Mr.  Davis, 
interrupting  him. 

213 


For  Better  or  Worse 

Mrs.  Smith  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  say,"  she 
replied,  moving  towards  the  door.  "When  she's 
off  holidaying,  I  never  know  when  she'll  return. 
Shall  I  tell  her  you  called  ?" 

"Tell  her  I certainly"  said  Mr.  Davis,  with 

great  vehemence.  "I'll  come  in  a  week's  time  and 
see  if  she's  back." 

"She  might  be  away  for  months,"  said  the  old 
lady,  moving  slowly  to  the  passage  and  opening  the 
street  door.  "Good — afternoon." 

She  closed  the  door  behind  them  and  stood  watch- 
ing them  through  the  glass  as  they  passed  discon- 
solately into  the  street.  Then  she  went  back  into  the 
parlour,  and  standing  before  the  mantelpiece,  looked 
long  arid  earnestly  into  the  mirror. 

Mr.  Davis  returned  a  week  later — alone,  and,  paus- 
ing at  the  gate,  glanced  in  dismay  at  a  bill  in  the  win- 
dow announcing  that  the  house  was  to  be  sold.  He 
walked  up  the  path  still  looking  at  it,  and  being  ad- 
mitted by  the  trim  servant  was  shown  into  the  parlour, 
and  stood  in  a  dispirited  fashion  before  Mrs.  Smith. 

"Not  back  yet?"  he  inquired,  gruffly. 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head. 

"What — what — is  that  bill  for?"  demanded  Mr. 
Davis,  jerking  his  thumb  towards  it. 

"She  is  thinking  of  selling  the  house,"  said  Mrs. 
Smith.  "  I  let  her  know  you  had  been,  and  that  is  the 

214 


For  Better  or  Worse 

result.     She  won't  come  back.     You  won't  see  her 
again." 

"Where  is  she?"  inquired  Mr.  Davis,  frowning. 

Mrs.  Smith  shook  her  head  again.  "And  it  would 
be  no  use  my  telling  you,"  she  said.  "What  she  has 
got  is  her  own,  and  the  law  won't  let  you  touch  a 
penny  of  it  without  her  consent.  You  must  have 
treated  her  badly;  why  did  you  leave  her?" 

"Why?"  repeated  Mr.  Davis.  "Why?  Why, 
because  she  hit  me  over  the  'ead  with  a  broom- 
handle." 

Mrs.  Smith  tossed  her  head. 

"Fancy  you  remembering  that  for  thirty-five 
years!"  she  said. 

"Fancy  forgetting  it!"  retorted  Mr.  Davis. 

"I  suppose  she  had  a  hot  temper,"  said  the  old 
lady. 

"'Ot  temper?"  said  the  other.  "Yes."  He 
leaned  forward,  and  holding  his  chilled  hands  over 
the  fire  stood  for  some  time  deep  in  thought. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  he  said  at  last,  "but 
there's  a  something  about  you  that  reminds  me  of 
her.  It  ain't  your  voice,  'cos  she  had  a  very  nice 
voice — when  she  wasn't  in  a  temper — and  it  ain't 
your  face,  because " 

"Yes?"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  sharply. 

"Because  it  don't  remind  me  of  her." 
215 


For  Better  or  Worse 

"And  yet  the  other  day  you  said  you  recognized 
me  at  once,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"  I  thought  I  did,"  said  Mr.  Davis.  " One  thing  is, 
I  was  expecting  to  see  her,  I  s'pose." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Well,  I  won't  keep  you,"  said  Mrs.  Smith  at 
last,  "and  it's  no  good  for  you  to  keep  coming  here 
to  see  her.  She  will  never  come  here  again.  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but  you  don't  look  over 
and  above  respectable.  Your  coat  is  torn,  your  trous- 
ers are  patched  in  a  dozen  places,  and  your  boots 
are  half  off  your  feet — I  don't  know  what  the  servant 
must  think." 

"I — I  only  came  to  look  for  my  wife,"  said  Mr. 
Davis,  in  a  startled  voice.  "I  won't  come  again." 

"That's  right,"  said  the  old  lady.  "That'll  please 
her,  I  know.  And  if  she  should  happen  to  ask  what 
sort  of  a  living  you  are  making,  what  shall  I  tell  her  ?" 

'Tell  her  what  you  said  about  my  clothes,  ma'am," 
said  Mr.  Davis,  with  his  hand  on  the  door-knob. 
"She'll  understand  then.  She's  known  wot  it  is  to 
be  poor  herself.  She'd  got  a  bad  temper,  but  she'd 
have  cut  her  tongue  out  afore  she'd  'ave  thrown  a 
poor  devil's  rags  in  his  face.  Good-afternoon." 

"Good-afternoon,  Ben,"  said  the  old  woman,  in  a 
changed  voice. 

Mr.  Davis,  half-way  through  the  door,  started  as 
216 


For  Better  or  Worse 

though  he  had  been  shot,  and,  facing  about,  stood  eye- 
ing her  in  dumb  bewilderment. 


"If  I  take  you  back  again,"  repeated  his  wife,  "&K  you  going  to 

behave  yourself?" 

"  It  isn't  the  same  voice  and  it  isn't  the  same  face," 
said  the  old  woman;  "but  if  I'd  only  got  a  broom- 
handle  handy " 

217 


For  Better  or  Worse 

Mr.  Davis  made  an  odd  noise  in  his  throat. 

"If  you  hadn't  been  so  down  on  your  luck,"  said 
his  wife,  blinking  her  eyes  rapidly,  "  I'd  have  let  you 
go.  If  you  hadn't  looked  so  miserable  I  could  have 
stood  it.  If  I  take  you  back,  are  you  going  to  be- 
have yourself?" 

Mr.  Davis  stood  gaping  at  her. 

"If  I  take  you  back  again,"  repeated  his  wife, 
speaking  very  slowly,  "are  you  going  to  behave 
yourself?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Davis,  finding  his  voice  at  last. 
"Yes,  if  you  are." 


218 


THE  OLD  MAN  OF  THE  SEA 


"What  I  want  you  to  do,"  said  Mr.  George  Wright,  "is  to  be  an 
uncle  to  me  " 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

"  "W  "IT  "THAT  I  want  you  to  do,"  said  Mr. 
^y\/  George  Wright,  as  he  leaned  towards  the 
old  sailor,  "is  to  be  an  uncle  to  me." 

"Aye,  aye,"  said  the  mystified  Mr.  Kemp,  pausing 
with  a  mug  of  beer  midway  to  his  lips. 

"A  rich  uncle,"  continued  the  young  man,  lower- 
ing his  voice  to  prevent  any  keen  ears  in  the  next  bar 
from  acquiring  useless  knowledge.  "An  uncle  from 
New  Zealand,  who  is  going  to  leave  me  all  'is  money." 

"Where's  it  coming  from  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Kemp, 
with  a  little  excitement. 

"It  ain't  coming,"  was  the  reply.  " You've  only 
got  to  say  you've  got  it.  Fact  of  the  matter  is,  I've 
got  my  eye  on  a  young  lady;  there's  another  chap 
after  'er  too,  and  if  she  thought  I'd  got  a  rich  uncle  it 
might  make  all  the  difference.  She  knows  I  'ad  an 
uncle  that  went  to  New  Zealand  and  was  never  heard 
of  since.  That's  what  made  me  think  of  it." 

Mr.  Kemp  drank  his  beer  in  thoughtful  silence. 
"How  can  I  be  a  rich  uncle  without  any  brass  ?"  he 
inquired  at  length. 

"I  should  'ave  to  lend  you  some — a  little,"  said 
Mr.  Wright. 

221 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

The  old  man  pondered.  "I've  had  money  lent  me 
before,"  he  said,  candidly,  "but  I  can't  call  to  mind 
ever  paying  it  back.  I  always  meant  to,  but  that's  as 
far  as  it  got." 

"It  don't  matter,"  said  the  other.  "It'll  only  be 
for  a  little  while,  and  then  you'll  'ave  a  letter  calling 
you  back  to  New  Zealand.  See  ?  And  you'll  go 
back,  promising  to  come  home  in  a  year's  time,  after 
you've  wound  up  your  business,  and  leave  us  all  your 
money.  See?'* 

Mr.  Kemp  scratched  the  back  of  his  neck.  "  But 
she's  sure  to  find  it  out  in  time,"  he  objected. 

"P'r'aps,"  said  Mr.  Wright.  "And  p'r'aps  not. 
There'll  be  plenty  of  time  for  me  to  get  married  be- 
fore she  does,  and  you  could  write  back  and  say  you 
had  got  married  yourself,  or  given  your  money  to  a 
hospital. 

He  ordered  some  more  beer  for  Mr.  Kemp,  and 
in  a  low  voice  gave  him  as  much  of  the  family  his- 
tory as  he  considered  necessary. 

"I've  only  known  you  for  about  ten  days,"  he 
concluded,  "but  I'd  sooner  trust  you  than  people 
I've  known  for  years." 

"  I  took  a  fancy  to  you  the  moment  I  set  eyes  on 
you,"  rejoined  Mr.  Kemp.  "You're  the  living  image 
of  a  young  fellow  that  lent  me  five  pounds  once,  and 
was  drowned  afore  my  eyes  the  week  after.  He  'ad 

222 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

a  bit  of  a  squint,  and  I  s'pose  that's  how  he  came  to 
fall  overboard." 

He  emptied  his  mug,  and  then,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Wright,  fetched  his  sea-chest  from  the  boarding- 
house  where  he  was  staying,  and  took  it  to  the  young 
man's  lodgings.  Fortunately  for  the  latter's  pocket 
the  chest  contained  a  good  best  suit  and  boots,  and 
the  only  expenses  incurred  were  for  a  large,  soft  felt 
hat  and  a  gilded  watch  and  chain.  Dressed  in  his 
best,  with  a  bulging  pocket-book  in  his  breast- 
pocket, he  set  out  with  Mr.  Wright  on  the  following 
evening  to  make  his  first  call. 

Mr.  Wright,  who  was  also  in  his  best  clothes,  led 
the  way  to  a  small  tobacconist's  in  a  side  street  off  the 
Mile  End  Road,  and,  raising  his  hat  with  some  cere- 
mony, shook  hands  with  a  good-looking  young  wom- 
an who  stood  behind  the  counter:  Mr.  Kemp, 
adopting  an  air  of  scornful  dignity  intended  to  indicate 
the  possession  of  great  wealth,  waited. 

"This  is  my  uncle,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  speaking 
rapidly,  "from  New  Zealand,  the  one  I  spoke  to  you 
about.  He  turned  up  last  night,  and  you  might  have 
knocked  me  down  with  a  feather.  The  last  person  in 
the  world  I  expected  to  see." 

Mr.  Kemp,  in  a  good  rolling  voice,  said,  "Good 
evening,  miss;  I  hope  you  are  well,"  and,  subsiding 
into  a  chair,  asked  for  a  cigar.  His  surprise  when  he 

223 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

found  that  the  best  cigar  they  stocked  only  cost  six- 
pence almost  assumed  the  dimensions  of  a  grievance. 
"It'll  do  to  go  on  with,"  he  said,  smelling  it  sus- 


It*Il  do  to  go  on  with,"  he  said 


piciously.     "Have  you  got  change  for  a  fifty-pound 
note?" 

Miss  Bradshaw,  concealing  her  surprise  by  an 
effort,  said  that  she  would  see,  and  was  scanning  the 
contents  of  a  drawer,  when  Mr.  Kemp  in  some  haste 
discovered  a  few  odd  sovereigns  in  his  waistcoat- 

224 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

pocket.  Five  minutes  later  he  was  sitting  in  the  little 
room  behind  the  shop,  holding  forth  to  an  admiring 
audience. 

"So  far  as  I  know,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  a  question 
of  Mrs.  Bradshaw's,  "George  is  the  only  relation  I've 
got.  Him  and  me  are  quite  alone,  and  I  can  tell  you 
I  was  glad  to  find  him." 

Mrs.  Bradshaw  sighed.  "It's  a  pity  you  are  so 
far  apart,"  she  said. 

"It's  not  for  long,"  said  Mr.  Kemp.  "I'm  just 
going  back  for  about  a  year  to  wind  up  things  out 
there,  and  then  I'm  coming  back  to  leave  my  old 
bones  over  here.  George  has  very  kindly  offered  t« 
let  me  live  with  him." 

"He  won't  suffer  for  it,  I'll  be  bound,"  said  Mrs. 
Bradshaw,  archly. 

"So  far  as  money  goes  he  won't,"  said  the  old  man. 
"Not  that  that  would  make  any  difference  to  George." 

"It  would  be  the  same  to  me  if  you  hadn't  got  a 
farthing,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  promptly. 

Mr.  Kemp,  somewhat  affected,  shook  hands  with 
him,  and  leaning  back  in  the  most  comfortable  chair 
in  the  room,  described  his  life  and  struggles  in  New 
Zealand.  Hard  work,  teetotalism,  and  the  simple 
life  combined  appeared  to  be  responsible  for  a  fortune 
which  he  affected  to  be  too  old  to  enjoy.  Misunder- 
standings of  a  painful  nature  were  avoided  by  a  timely 

225 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

admission  that  under  medical  advice  he  was  now  tak« 
»ng  a  fair  amount  of  stimulant. 


"  'Ow  much  did  you  say  you'd  got  in  the  bank?  " 

"Mind,"  he  said,  as  he  walked  home  with  the 
elated  George,  "it's  your  game,  not  mine,  and  it's 
sure  to  come  a  bit  expensive.  I  can't  be  a  rich  uncle 

226 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

without  spending  a  bit.  JOw  much  did  you  say  you'd 
got  in  the  bank  ?" 

"We  must  be  as  careful  as  we  can,"  said  Mr. 
Wright,  hastily.  "One  thing  is  they  can't  leave  the 
shop  to  go  out  much.  It's  a  very  good  little  business, 
and  it  ought  to  be  all  right  for  me  and  Bella  one  of 
these  days,  eh  ?" 

Mr.  Kemp,  prompted  by  a  nudge  in  the  ribs,  as- 
sented. "  It's  wonderful  how  they  took  it  all  in  about 
me,"  he  said;  "  but  I  feel  certain  in  my  own  mind  that 
I  ought  to  chuck  some  money  about." 

"Tell  'em  of  the  money  you  have  chucked  about," 
said  Mr.  Wright.  "  It'll  do  just  as  well,  and  come  a 
good  deal  cheaper.  And  you  had  better  go  round 
alone  to-morrow  evening.  It'll  look  better.  Just 

*/ 

go  in  for  another  one  of  their  sixpenny  cigars." 

Mr.  Kemp  obeyed,  and  the  following  evening,  after 
sitting  a  little  while  chatting  in  the  shop,  was  invited 
into  the  parlour,  where,  mindful  of  Mr.  Wright's  in- 
structions, he  held  his  listeners  enthralled  by  tales  of 
past  expenditure.  A  tip  of  fifty  pounds  to  his  bed- 
room steward  coming  over  was  characterized  by  Mrs. 
Bradshaw  as  extravagant. 

"Seems  to  be  going  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Wright, 
as  the  old  man  made  his  report;  "but  be  careful; 
don't  go  overdoing  it." 

Mr.  Kemp  nodded.     "I  can  turn  'em  round  my 
227 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

little  finger,"  he  said.  "You'll  have  Bella  all  to 
yourself  to-morrow  evening." 

Mr.  Wright  flushed.  "How  did  you  manage 
that?"  he  inquired.  "It's  the  first  time  she  has 
ever  been  out  with  me  alone." 

"She  ain't  coming  out,"  said  Mr.  Kemp.  "She's 
going  to  stay  at  home  and  mind  the  shop;  it's  the 
mother  what's  coming  out.  Going  to  spend  the  even- 
ing with  me!" 

Mr.  Wright  frowned.  "What  did  you  do  that 
for?"  he  demanded,  hotly. 

"I  didn't  do  it,"  said-  Mr.  Kemp,  equably;  "they 
done  it.  The  old  lady  says  that,  just  for  once  in  her 
life,  she  wants  to  see  how  it  feels  to  spend  money  like 
water." 

"Money  like  water!"  repeated  the  horrified  Mr. 
Wright.  "Money  like I'll  'money'  her — 

ni- 

"It  don't  matter  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Kemp.  "I  can 
have  a  headache  or  a  chill,  or  something  of  that  sort,  if 
you  like.  I  don't  want  to  go.  It's  no  pleasure  to  me." 

"What  will  it  cost?"  demanded  Mr.  Wright,  pac- 
ing up  and  down  the  room. 

The  rich  uncle  made  a  calculation.  "She  wants 
to  go  to  a  place  called  the  Empire,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"and  have  something  for  supper,  and  there'd  be  cabs 
and  things.  I  dessay  it  would  cost  a  couple  o* 

228 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

pounds,  and  it  might  be  more.     But  I'd  just  as  soon 
ave'  a  chill — just." 

Mr.  Wright  groaned,  and  after  talking  of  Mrs. 
Bradshaw  as  though  she  were  already  his  mother-in- 
law,  produced  the  money.  His  instructions  as  to 
economy  lasted  almost  up  to  the  moment  when  he 
stood  with  Bella  outside  the  shop  on  the  following 
evening  and  watched  the  couple  go  off. 

"It's  wonderful  how  well  they  get  on  together,'* 
said  Bella,  as  they  re-entered  the  shop  and  passed  into 
the  parlour.  "  I've  never  seen  mother  take  to  any- 
body so  quick  as  she  has  to  him." 

"I  hope  you  like  him,  too,"  said  Mr.  Wright. 

"He's  a  dear,"  said  Bella.  "Fancy  having  all 
that  money.  I  wonder  what  it  feels  like  ?" 

"I  suppose  I  shall  know  some  day,"  said  the  young 
man,  slowly;  "but  it  won't  be  much  good  to  me 
unless 

"Unless?"  said  Bella,  after  a  pause. 

"Unless  it  gives  me  what  I  want,"  replied  the 
other.  "I'd  sooner  be  a  poor  man  and  married  to 
the  girl  I  love,  than  a  millionaire." 

Miss  Bradshaw  stole  an  uneasy  glance  at  his  some- 
what sallow  features,  and  became  thoughtful. 

"It's  no  good  having  diamonds  and  motor-cars 
and  that  sort  of  thing  unless  you  have  somebody  to 
share  them  with,"  pursued  Mr.  Wright. 

229 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

Miss  Bradshaw' s  eyes  sparkled,  and  at  that 
moment  the  shop-bell  tinkled  and  a  lively  whistle 
sounded.  She  rose  and  went  into  the  shop,  and  Mr. 
Wright  settled  back  in  his  chair  and  scowled  darkly 
as  he  saw  the  intruder. 

"Good  evening,"  said  the  latter.  "I  want  a  six- 
penny smoke  for  twopence,  please.  How  are  we  this 
evening  ?  Sitting  up  and  taking  nourishment  ?" 

Miss  Bradshaw  told  him  to  behave  himself. 

"Always  do,"  said  the  young  man.  "That's 
why  I  can  never  get  anybody  to  play  with.  I  had 
such  an  awful  dream  about  you  last  night  that  I 
couldn't  rest  till  I  saw  you.  Awful  it  was." 

"What  was  it?"  inquired  Miss  Bradshaw. 

"Dreamt  you  were  married,"  said  Mr.  Hills, 
smiling  at  her. 

Miss  Bradshaw  tossed  her  head.  "Who  to, 
pray?"  she  inquired. 

"Me,"  said  Mr.  Hills,  simply.  "I  woke  up  in  a 
cold  perspiration.  Halloa!  is  that  Georgie  in  there  ? 
How  are  you,  George  ?  Better  ?" 

"I'm  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  with  dignity, 
as  the  other  hooked  the  door  open  with  his  stick  and 
nodded  at  him. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  look  it?"  demanded  the 
lively  Mr.  Hills.  "Have  you  got  your  feet  wet, 
or  what?" 

230 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

"Oh,  be  quite,"  said  Miss  Bradshaw,  smiling  at 
him. 

"  Right-o,"  said  Mr.  Hills,  dropping  into  a  chair  by 
the  counter  and  caressing  his  moustache.  "  But  you 
wouldn't  speak  to  me  like  that  if  you  knew  what  a 
terrible  day  I've  had." 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Working,"  said  the  other,  with  a  huge  sigh. 
"Where's  the  millionaire?  I  came  round  on  pur- 
pose to  have  a  look  at  him." 

"Him  and  mother  have  gone  to  the  Empire?" 
said  Miss  Bradshaw. 

Mr.  Hills  gave  three  long,  penetrating  whistles, 
and  then,  placing  his  cigar  with  great  care  on  the 
counter,  hid  his  face  in  a  huge  handkerchief.  Miss 
Bradshaw  glanced  from  him  to  the  frowning  Mr. 
Wright,  and  then,  entering  the  parlour,  closed  the 
door  with  a  bang.  Mr.  Hills  took  the  hint,  and  with 
a  somewhat  thoughtful  grin  departed. 

He  came  in  next  evening  for  another  cigar,  and 
heard  all  that  there  was  to  hear  about  the  Empire. 
Mrs.  Bradshaw  would  have  treated  him  but  coldly, 
but  the  innocent  Mr.  Kemp,  charmed  by  his  manner, 
paid  him  great  attention. 

"He's  just  like  what  I  was  at  his  age,"  he  said. 
"  Lively." 

"I'm  not  a  patch  on  you,"  said  Mr.  Hills,  edging 
231 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

his  way  by  slow  degrees  into  the  parlour.  "/  don't 
take  young  ladies  to  the  Empire.  Were  you  telling 
me  you  came  over  here  to  get  married,  or  did  I 
dream  it  ?" 

'  'Ark  at  him,"  said  the  blushing  Mr.  Kemp,  as 
Mrs.  Bradshaw  shook  her  head  at  the  offender  and 
told  him  to  behave  himself. 

"He's  a  man  any  woman  might  be  happy  with," 
said  Mr.  Hills.  "He  never  knows  how  much  there 
is  in  his  trousers-pocket.  Fancy  sewing  on  buttons 
for  a  man  like  that.  Gold-mining  ain't  in  it." 

Mrs.  Bradshaw  shook  her  head  at  him  again,  and 
Mr.  Hills,  after  apologizing  to  her  for  revealing  her 
innermost  thoughts  before  the  most  guileless  of  men, 
began  to  question  Mr.  Kemp  as  to  the  prospects  of  a 
bright  and  energetic  young  man,  with  a  distaste  for 
work,  in  New  Zealand.  The  audience  listened  with 
keen  attention  to  the  replies,  the  only  disturbing 
factor  being  a  cough  of  Mr.  Wright's,  which  became 
more  and  more  troublesome  as  the  evening  wore  on. 
By  the  time  uncle  and  nephew  rose  to  depart  the  latter 
was  so  hoarse  that  he  could  scarcely  speak. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  'em  you  had  got  a  letter  call- 
ing you  home,  as  I  told  you  ?"  he  vociferated,  as  soon 
as  they  were  clear  of  the  shop. 

"I — I  forgot  it,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Forgot  it!"  repeated  the  incensed  Mr.  Wright. 
232 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

"What  did  you  think  I  was  coughing  like  that  for 
—fun?" 

"I  forgot  it,"  said  the  old  man,  doggedly.  "Be- 
sides, if  you  take  my  advice,  you'd  better  let  me  stay 
a  little  longer  to  make  sure  of  things." 

Mr.  Wright  laughed  disagreeably.  "I  dare  say," 
he  said;  "but  I  am  managing  this  affair,  not  you. 
Now,  you  go  round  to-morrow  afternoon  and  tell 
them  you're  off.  D'ye  hear  ?  D'ye  think  I'm  made 
of  money  ?  And  what  do  you  mean  by  making  such 
a  fuss  of  that  fool,  Charlie  Hills  ?  You  know  he  is 
after  Bella." 

He  walked  the  rest  of  the  way  home  in  indignant 
silence,  and,  after  giving  minute  instructions  to  Mr. 
Kemp  next  morning  at  breakfast,  went  off  to  work  in 
a  more  cheerful  frame  of  mind.  Mr.  Kemp  was  out 
when  he  returned,  and  after  making  his  toilet  he  fol- 
lowed him  to  Mrs.  Bradshaw's. 

To  his  annoyance,  he  found  Mr.  Hills  there  again; 
and,  moreover,  it  soon  became  clear  to  him  that  Mr. 
Kemp  had  said  nothing  about  his  approaching  de- 
parture. Coughs  and  scowls  passed  unheeded,  and 
at  last  in  a  hesitating  voice,  he  broached  the  subject 
himself.  There  was  a  general  chorus  of  lamenta- 
tion. 

"I  hadn't  got  the  heart  to  tell  you,"  said  Mr. 
Kemp.  "I  don't  know  when  I've  been  so  happy." 

233 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

"But  you  haven't  got  to  go  back  immediate,"  said 
Mrs.  Bradshaw. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  before  the  old 
man  could  reply.  "Business." 

"Must  you  go,"  said  Mrs.  Bradshaw. 

Mr.  Kemp  smiled  feebly.  "I  suppose  I  ought  to," 
he  replied,  in  a  hesitating  voice. 

"Take  my  tip  and  give  yourself  a  bit  of  a  holiday 
before  you  go  back,"  urged  Mr.  Hills. 

"  Just  for  a  few  days,"  pleaded  Bella. 

"To  please  us,"  said  Mrs.  Bradshaw.  "Think 
'ow  George'li  miss  you." 

"Lay  hold  of  him  and  don't  let  him  go,"  said  Mr. 
Hills. 

He  took  Mr.  Kemp  round  the  waist,  and  the  laugh- 
ing Bella  and  her  mother  each  secured  an  arm.  An 
appeal  to  Mr.  Wright  to  secure  his  legs  passed  un- 
heeded. 

"We  don't  let  you  go  till  you  promise,"  said  Mrs. 
Bradshaw. 

Mr.  Kemp  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Promise?"  said  Bella. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Kemp;    "pYaps- 

"He  must  go  back,"  shouted  the  alarmed  Mr. 
Wright. 

"Let  him  speak  for  himself,"  exclaimed  Bella, 
indignantly. 

234 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

"Just  another  week  then,"  said  Mr.  Kemp.  "It's 
no  good  having  money  if  I  can't  please  myself." 

"A  week!"  shouted  Mr.  Wright,  almost  beside 
himself  with  rage  and  dismay.  "A  week!  Another 
week  !  Why,  you  told  me " 

"Oh,  don't  listen  to  him,"  said  Mrs.  Bradshaw. 
"Croaker!  It's  his  own  business,  ain't  it?  And 
he  knows  best,  don't  he  ?  What's  it  got  to  do  with 
you  ?  " 

She  patted  Mr.  Kemp's  hand;  Mr.  Kemp  patted 
back,  and  with  his  disengaged  hand  helped  himself 
to  a  glass  of  beer — the  fourth — and  beamed  in  a 
friendly  fashion  upon  the  company. 

"George!"  he  said,  suddenly. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  in  a  harsh  voice. 

"Did  you  think  to  bring  my  pocket-book  aiong 
with  you  ?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  sharply;   "I  didn't." 

"  Tt — tt"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  gesture  of 
annoyance.  "Well,  lend  me  a  couple  of  pounds, 
then,  or  else  run  back  and  fetch  my  pocket-book,"  he 
added,  with  a  sly  grin. 

Mr.  Wright's  face  worked  with  impotent  fury. 
"What — what — do  you — want  it  for?"  he  gasped. 

Mrs.  Bradshaw's  "Well!  Well!"  seemed  to  sum 
up  the  general  feeling;  Mr.  Kemp,  shaking  his  head, 
eyed  him  with  gentle  reproach. 

235 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

"Me  and  Mrs.  Bradshaw  are  going  to  'ave  an- 
other evening  out,"  he  said,  quietly.  "I've  only  got 
a  few  more  days,  and  I  must  make  hay  while  the  sun 
shines." 

To  Mr.  Wright  the  room  seemed  to  revolve  slowly 
on  its  axis,  but,  regaining  his  self-possession  by  a 
supreme  effort,  he  took  out  his  purse  and  produced 
the  amount.  Mrs.  Bradshaw,  after  a  few  feminine 
protestations,  went  upstairs  to  put  her  bonnet  on. 

"And  you  can  go  and  fetch  a  hansom-cab,  George, 
while  she's  a-doing  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Kemp.  "Pick 
out  a  good  'orse — spotted-grey,  if  you  can." 

Mr.  Wright  arose  and,  departing  with  a  sudden- 
ness that  was  almost  startling,  exploded  harmlessly 
in  front  of  the  barber's,  next  door  but  one.  Then 
with  lagging  steps  he  went  in  search  of  the  shabbiest 
cab  and  oldest  horse  he  could  find. 

'Thankee,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Kemp,  bluffly,  as  he 
helped  Mrs.  Bradshaw  in  and  stood  with  his  foot  on 
the  step.  "  By  the  way,  you  had  better  go  back  and 
lock  my  pocket-book  up.  I  left  it  on  the  washstand, 
and  there's  best  part  of  a  thousand  pounds  in  it.  You 
can  take  fifty  for  yourself  to  buy  smokes  with." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  admiration,  and  Mr. 
Wright,  with  a  frantic  attempt  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances, tried  to  thank  him,  but  in  vain.  Long  after 
the  cab  had  rolled  away  he  stood  on  the  pavement 

236 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

trying  to  think  out  a  position  which  was  rapidly 
becoming  unendurable.  Still  keeping  up  appear- 
ances, he  had  to  pretend  to  go  home  to  look  after  the 
pocket-book,  leaving  the  jubilant  Mr.  Hills  to  im- 
prove the  shining  hour  with  Miss  Bradshaw. 

Mr.  Kemp,  returning  home  at  midnight — in  a  cab 
— found  the  young  man  waiting  up  for  him,  and,  tak- 
ing a  seat  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  listened  unmoved 
to  a  word-picture  of  himself  which  seemed  intermina- 
ble. He  was  only  moved  to  speech  when  Mr.  Wright 
described  him  as  a  white-whiskered  Jezebel  who  was  a 
disgrace  to  his  sex,  and  then  merely  in  the  interests  of 
natural  science. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  he  said,  as  the  other  paused 
from  exhaustion.  "  It  won't  be  for  long  now." 

"Long?"  said  Mr.  Wright,  panting.  "First  thing 
to-morrow  morning  you  have  a  telegram  calling  you 
back — a  telegram  that  must  be  minded.  D'ye  see  ?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Kemp,  plainly.  "I'm 
not  going  back,  never  no  more — never!  I'm  going  to 
stop  here  and  court  Mrs.  Bradshaw." 

Mr.  Wright  fought  for  breath.  "You — you  can't ! " 
he  gasped. 

"  Fm  going  to  have  a  try,"  said  the  old  man.  '  I'm 
sick  of  going  to  sea,  and  it'll  be  a  nice  comfortable 
home  for  my  old  age.  You  marry  Bella,  and  I'll 
marry  her  mother.  Happy  family!" 

237 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

Mr.  Wright,  trembling  with  rage,  sat  down  to 
recover,  and,  regaining  his  composure  after  a  time, 
pointed  out  almost  calmly  the  various  difficulties  in 
the  way. 

"I've  thought  it  all  out,"  said  Mr.  Kemp,  nodding. 
"She  mustn't  know  I'm  not  rich  till  after  we're  mar- 
ried; then  I  'ave  a  letter  from  New  Zealand  saying 
I've  lost  all  my  money.  It's  just  as  easy  to  have 
that  letter  as  the  one  you  spoke  of." 

"And  I'm  to  find  you  money  to  play  the  rich  uncle 
with  till  you're  married,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Wright, 
in  a  grating  voice,  "and  then  lose  Bella  when  Mrs. 
Bradshaw  finds  you've  lost  your  money  ?" 

Mr.  Kemp  scratched  his  ear.  "That's  your  look- 
out," he  said,  at  last. 

"Now,  look  here,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  with  great 
determination.  "Either  you  go  and  tell  them  that 
you've  been  telegraphed  for — cabled  is  the  proper 
word — or  I  tell  them  the  truth." 

"That'll  settle  you  then,"  said  Mr.  Kemp. 

"No  more  than  the  other  would,"  retorted  the 
young  man,  "and  it'll  come  cheaper.  One  thing 
I'll  take  my  oath  of,  and  that  is  I  won't  give  you  an- 
other farthing;  but  if  you  do  as  I  tell  you  I'll  give 
you  a  quid  for  luck.  Now,  think  it  over." 

Mr.  Kemp  thought  it  over,  and  after  a  vain  attempt 
to  raise  the  promised  reward  to  five  pounds,  finally 

238 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

compounded  for  two,  and  went  off  to  bed  after  a  few 
stormy  words  on  selfishness  and  ingratitude.  He  de- 
clined to  speak  to  his  host  at  breakfast  next  morning, 
and  accompanied  him  in  the  evening  with  the  air  of  a 
martyr  going  to  the  stake.  He  listened  in  stony 
silence  to  the  young  man's  instructions,  and  only 
spoke  when  the  latter  refused  to  pay  the  two  pounds 
in  advance. 

The  news,  communicated  in  halting  accents  by 
Mr.  Kemp,  was  received  with  flattering  dismay. 
Mrs.  Bradshaw  refused  to  believe  her  ears,  and  it  was 
only  after  the  information  had  been  repeated  and  con- 
firmed by  Mr.  Wright  that  she  understood. 

"I  must  go,"  said  Mr.  Kemp,  "I've  spent  over 
eleven  pounds  cabling  to-day;  but  it's  all  no 
good." 

"But  you're  coming  back?"  said  Mr.  Hills. 

"O*  course  I  am,"  was  the  reply.  "George  is  the 
only  relation  I've  got,  and  I've  got  to  look  after 
him,  I  suppose.  After  all,  blood  is  thicker  than 
water." 

"Hear,  hear!"  said  Mrs.  Bradshaw,  piously. 

"And  there's  you  and  Bella,"  continued  Mr. 
Kemp;  "two  of  the  best  that  ever  breathed." 

The  ladies  looked  down. 

"And  Charlie  Hills;  I  don't  know — I  don't  know 
when  I've  took  such  a  fancy  to  anybody  as  I  have  to 

239 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

'im.  If  I  was  a  young  gal — a  single  young  gal — he's 
just  the  one  I  should  fancy.  He's  a  good-'arted, 
good-looking " 

"Draw  it  mild,"  interrupted  the  blushing  Mr. 
Hills,  as  Mr.  Wright  bestowed  a  ferocious  glance 
upon  the  speaker. 

"Clever,  lively  young  fellow,"  concluded  Mr. 
Kemp.  "George!" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Wright. 

"I'm  going  now.  I've  got  to  catch  the  train  for 
Southampton,  but  I  don't  want  you  to  come  with  me. 
I  prefer  to  be  alone.  You  stay  here  and  cheer  them 
up.  Oh,  and  before  I  forget  it,  lend  me  a  couple  o' 
pounds  out  o'  that  fifty  I  gave  you  last  night.  I've 
given  all  my  small  change  away." 

He  looked  up  and  met  Mr.  Wright's  eye;  the  latter, 
too  affected  to  speak,  took  out  the  money  and  passed 
it  over. 

"We  never  know  what  may  happen  to  us,"  said  the 
old  man,  solemnly,  as  he  rose  and  buttoned  his  coat. 
"  I'm  an  old  man  and  I  like  to  have  things  ship-shape. 
I've  spent  nearly  the  whole  day  with  my  lawyer,  and 
if  anything  'appens  to  my  old  carcass  it  won't  make 
any  difference.  I  have  left  half  my  money  to  George; 
half  of  all  I  have  is  to  be  his." 

In  the  midst  of  an  awed  silence  he  went  round  and 
shook  hands. 

24-0 


The  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

"The  other  half,"  he  said,  slowly,  as  he  paused 
with  his  hand  on  the  door — "the  other  half  and  my 
best  gold  watch  and  chain  I  have  left  to  my  dear  young 
pal,  Charlie  Hills.  Good-bye,  Georgie!" 


"MANNERS  MAKYTH  MAN" 


'Gal  overboard! '  I  ses,  shouting" 


"Manners  Makyth  Man" 

THE  night-watchman  appeared  to  be  out  of 
sorts.  His  movements  were  even  slower 
than  usual,  and,  when  he  sat,  the  soap-box 
seemed  to  be  unable  to  give  satisfaction.  His  face 
bore  an  expression  of  deep  melancholy,  but  a  smoul- 
dering gleam  in  his  eye  betokened  feelings  deeply 
moved. 

"Play-acting  I  don't  hold  with,"  he  burst  out,  with 
sudden  ferocity.  "Never  did.  I  don't  say  I  ain't 
been  to  a  theayter  once  or  twice  in  my  life,  but  I  al- 
ways come  away  with  the  idea  that  anybody  could  act 
if  they  liked  to  try.  It's  a  kid's  game,  a  silly  kid's 
game,  dressing  up  and  pretending  to  be  somebody 
else." 

He  cut  off  a  piece  of  tobacco  and,  stowing  it  in  his 
left  cheek,  sat  chewing,  with  his  lack-lustre  eyes  fixed 
on  the  wharves  across  the  river.  The  offensive  antics 
of  a  lighterman  in  mid-stream,  who  nearly  fell  over- 
board in  his  efforts  to  attract  his  attention,  he  ignored. 

"I  might  ha'  known  it,  too,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
silence.  "If  I'd  only  stopped  to  think,  instead  o'  be- 
ing in  such  a  hurry  to  do  good  to  others,  I  should  ha* 
been  all  right,  and  the  pack  o'  monkey-faced  swabs 

245 


14  Manners  Makyth  Man  " 

on  the  Lizzie  and  Annie  wot  calls  themselves  sailor- 
men  would  'ave  had  to  'ave  got  something  else  to 
laugh  about.  They've  told  it  in  every  pub  for  'arf 
a  mile  round,  and  last  night,  when  I  went  into  the 
Town  of  Margate  to  get  a  drink,  three  chaps  climbed 
over  the  partition  to  'ave  a  look  at  me. 

"It  all  began  with  young  Ted  Sawyer,  the  mate 
o'  the  Lizzie  and  Annie.  He  calls  himself  a  mate, 
but  if  it  wasn't  for  'aving  the  skipper  for  a  brother- 
in-law  'e'd  be  called  something  else,  very  quick. 
Two  or  three  times  we've  'ad  words  over  one  thing 
and  another,  and  the  last  time  I  called  'im  something 
that  I  can  see  now  was  a  mistake.  It  was  one  o* 
these  'ere  clever  things  that  a  man  don't  forget,  let 
alone  a  lop-sided  monkey  like  'im. 

"That  was  when  they  was  up  time  afore  last,  and 
when  they  made  fast  'ere  last  week  I  could  see  as  he 
'adn't  forgotten  it.  For  one  thing  he  pretended  not 
to  see  me,  and,  arter  I  'ad  told  him  wot  I'd  do  to  him 
if  'e  ran  into  me  agin,  he  said  'e  thought  I  was  a  sack 
o*  potatoes  taking  a  airing  on  a  pair  of  legs  wot  some- 
body 'ad  throwed  away.  Nasty  tongue  'e's  got;  not 
clever,  but  nasty. 

"Arter  that  I  took  no  notice  of  'im,  and,  o'  course, 
that  annoyed  'im  more  than  anything.  All  I  could 
do  I  done,  and  'e  was  ringing  the  gate-bell  that  night 
from  five  minutes  to  twelve  till  ha'-past  afore  I  heard 

246 


;< 


Manners  Makyth  Man 


it.     Many  a  night-watchman  gets  a  name  for  going 
to  sleep  when  Vs  only  getting  a  bit  of  'is  own  back. 

"We  stood  there  talking  for  over  'arf-an-hour  arter 
I  'ad  let  'im  in.  Leastways,  he  did.  And  whenever 
I  see  as  he  was  getting  tired  I  just  said,  '  H'sh  /'  and 
Vd  start  agin  as  fresh  as  ever.  He  tumbled  to  it  at 
last,  and  went  aboard  shaking  'is  little  fist  at  me  and 
telling  me  wot  he'd  do  to  me  if  it  wasn't  for  the  lor. 

"I  kept  by  the  gate  as  soon  as  I  came  on  dooty  next 
evening,  just  to  give  'im  a  little  smile  as  'e  went  out. 
There  is  nothing  more  aggravating  than  a  smile  when 
it  is  properly  done;  but  there  was  no  signs  o*  my  lord, 
and,  arter  practising  it  on  a  carman  by  mistake,  I  'ad 
to  go  inside  for  a  bit  and  wait  till  he  'ad  gorn. 

"The  coast  was  clear  by  the  time  I  went  back, 
and  I  'ad  just  stepped  outside  with  my  back  up  agin 
the  gate-post  to  'ave  a  pipe,  when  I  see  a  boy  coming 
along  with  a  bag.  Good-looking  lad  of  about  fifteen 
'e  was,  nicely  dressed  in  a  serge  suit,  and  he  no  sooner 
gets  up  to  me  than  'e  puts  down  the  bag  and  looks  up 
at  me  with  a  timid  sort  o'  little  smile. 

"Good  evening,  cap'n/  he  ses. 

"He  wasn't  the  fust  that  has  made  that  mistake; 
older  people  than  'im  have  done  it. 

"Good  evening,  my  lad,'  I  ses. 
"I  s'pose,'  he  ses,  in  a  trembling  voice,  'I  sup- 
pose you  ain't  looking  out  for  a  cabin-boy,  sir  ?' 

247 


"Manners  Makyth  Man  " 

"'Cabin-boy?'  I  ses.     'No,  I  ain't.' 

"  *  I've  run  away  from  'ome  to  go  to  sea/  he  ses, 
'and  I'm  afraid  of  being  pursued.  Can  I  come  in- 
side?' 

"Afore  I  could  say  'No'  he  'ad  come,  bag  and  all; 
and  afore  I  could  say  anything  else  he  'ad  nipped  into 
the  office  and  stood  there  with  his  'and  on  his  chest 
panting. 

'I  know  I  can  trust  you,'  he  ses;  'I  can  see  it  by 
your  face." 

'Wot  'ave  you  run  away  from  'ome  for?'  I  ses, 
'Have  they  been  ill-treating  of  you  ?' 

'Ill-treating  me?'  he  ses,  with  a  laugh.  'Not 
much.  Why,  I  expect  my  father  is  running  about 
all  over  the  place  offering  rewards  for  me.  He 
wouldn't  lose  me  for  a  thousand  pounds.' 

"I  pricked  up  my  ears  at  that;  I  don't  deny  it. 
Anybody  would.  Besides,  I  knew  it  would  be  doing 
him  a  kindness  to  hand  'im  back  to  'is  father.  And 
then  I  did  a  bit  o'  thinking  to  see  'ow  it  was  to  be 
done. 

' '  Sit  down,'  I  ses,  putting  three  or  four  ledgers 
on  the  floor  behind  one  of  the  desks.  'Sit  down,  and 
let's  talk  it  over.' 

"We  talked  away  for  ever  so  long,  but,  do  all  I 
would,  I  couldn't  persuade  'im.  His  'ead  was  stuffed 
full  of  coral  islands  and  smugglers  and  pirates  and 

248 


;<  Manners  Makyth  Man  " 

foreign  ports.     He  said  'e  wanted  to  see  the  world, 
and  flying-fish. 

'I  love  the  blue  billers/  he  ses;  'the  heaving 
blue  billers  is  wot  I  want/ 

"I  tried  to  explain  to  'im  who  would  be  doing  the 
heaving,  but  'e  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  He  sat  on  them 
ledgers  like  a  little  wooden  image,  looking  up  at  me 
and  shaking  his  'ead,  and  when  I  told  'im  of  storms 
and  shipwrecks  he  just  smacked  'is  lips  and  his  blue 
eyes  shone  with  joy.  Arter  a  time  I  saw  it  was  no 
good  trying  to  persuade  'im,  and  I  pretended  to  give 
way. 

'  I  think  I  can  get  you  a  ship  with  a  friend  o' 
mine/  I  ses;  'but,  mind,  I've  got  to  relieve  your  pore 
father's  mind — I  must  let  'im  know  wot's  become  of 
you/ 

'Not  before  I've  sailed,'  he  ses,  very  quick. 
''Certingly  not,'  I  ses.  'But  you  must  give  me 
'is  name  and  address,  and,  arter  the  Blue  Shark — 
that's  the  name  of  your  ship — is  clear  of  the  land, 
I'll  send  'im  a  letter  with  no  name  to  it,  saying  where 
you  'ave  gorn/ 

"  He  didn't  seem  to  like  it  at  fust,  and  said  'e  would 
write  'imself,  but  arter  I  'ad  pointed  out  that  'e  might 
forget  and  that  I  was  responsible,  'e  gave  way  and 
told  me  that  'is  father  was  named  Mr.  Watson,  and 
he  kept  a  big  draper's  shop  in  the  Commercial  Road. 

249 


'  Manners  Makyth  Man  " 

"We  talked  a  bit  arter  that,  just  to  stop  'is  sus- 
picions, and  then  I  told  'im  to  stay  where  'e  was  on  the 
floor,  out  of  sight  of  the  window,  while  I  went  to  see 
my  friend  the  captain. 

"I  stood  outside  for  a  moment  trying  to  make  up 
my  mind  wot  to  do.  O*  course,  I  'ad  no  business, 
strictly  speaking,  to  leave  the  wharf,  but,  on  the  other 
'and,  there  was  a  father's  'art  to  relieve.  I  edged 
along  bit  by  bit  while  I  was  thinking,  and  then,  arter 
looking  back  once  or  twice  to  make  sure  that  the  boy 
wasn't  watching  me,  I  set  off  for  the  Commercial 
Road  as  hard  as  I  could  go. 

"I'm  not  so  young  as  I  was.  It  was  a  warm  even- 
ing, and  I  'adn't  got  even  a  bus  fare  on  me.  I  'ad  to 
walk  all  the  way,  and,  by  the  time  I  got  there,  I  was 
'arf  melted.  It  was  a  tidy-sized  shop,  with  three  or 
four  nice-looking  gals  behind  the  counter,  and  things 
like  babies'  high  chairs  for  the  customers  to  sit  on — 
long  in  the  leg  and  ridikerlously  small  in  the  seat.  I 
went  up  to  one  of  the  gals  and  told  'er  I  wanted  to  see 
Mr.  Watson. 

"On  private  business/  I  ses.     'Very  important/ 

"She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
went  away  and  fetched  a  tall,  bald-headed  man  with 
grey  side-whiskers  and  a  large  nose. 

'Wot  d'yeu  want  r"  he  ses,  coming  up  to  me. 

"  '  I  want  a  word  with  you  in  private,'  I  ses. 
250 


!< 


Manners  Makyth  Man 


'This  is  private  enough  for  me,'  he  ses.  'Say 
wot  you  'ave  to  say,  and  be  quick  about  it.' 

"I  drawed  myself  up  a  bit  and  looked  at  him. 
'P'r'aps  you  ain't  missed  'im  yet,'  I  ses. 

f'  Missed  'im?'  he  ses,  with  a  growl.  'Missed 
who?' 

'Your  —  son.  Your  blue-eyed  son,'  I  ses,  look- 
ing 'im  straight  in  the  eye. 

''Look  here!'  he  ses,  spluttering.  'You  be  off. 
'Ow  dare  you  come  here  with  your  games  ?  Wot 
d'ye  mean  by  it*?' 

'I  mean,'  I  ses,  getting  a  bit  out  o'  temper,  'that 
your  boy  has  run  away  to  go  to  sea,  and  I've  come  to 
take  you  to  'im.' 

"He  seemed  so  upset  that  I  thought  'e  was  going 
to  'ave  a  fit  at  fust,  and  it  seemed  only  natural,  too. 
Then  I  see  that  the  best-looking  girl  and  another  w  as 
'aving  a  fit,  although  trying  'ard  not  to. 

'  If  you  don't  get  out  o'  my  shop/  he  ses  at  last, 
'I'll  'ave  you  locked  up.' 

'Very  good!'  I  ses,  in  a  quiet  way.  'Very  good; 
but,  mark  my  words,  if  he's  drownded  you'll  never 
forgive  yourself  as  long  as  you  live  for  letting  your 
temper  get  the  better  of  you  —  you'll  never  know 
a  good  night's  rest  agin.  Besides,  wot  about  'is 
mother?' 

"One  o'  them  silly  gals  went  off  agin  just  like  a 
251 


>l  Manners  Makyth  Man'1 

damp  firework,  and  Mr.  Watson,  arter  nearly  chok- 
ing 'imself  with  temper,  shoved  me  out  o'  the  way 
and  marched  out  o'  the  shop.  I  didn't  know  wot  to 
make  of  'im  at  fust,  and  then  one  o'  the  gals  tokl  me 
that  'e  was  a  bachelor  and  'adn't  got  no  son,  and  that 
somebody  'ad  been  taking  advantage  of  what  she 
called  my  innercence  to  pull  my  leg. 

"'  You  toddle  off  'ome,'  she  ses,  'before  Mr.  Wat- 
son comes  back.' 

'  It's  a  shame  to  let  'im  come  out  alone,'  ses  one 
o'  the  other  gals.     'Where  do  you  live,  gran'pa  ?' 

"I  see  then  that  I  'ad  been  done,  and  I  was  just 
walking  out  o'  the  shop,  pretending  to  be  deaf,  when 
Mr.  Watson  come  back  with  a  silly  young  police- 
man wot  asked  me  wot  I  meant  by  it.  He  told  me 
to  get  off  'ome  quick,  and  actooally  put  his  'and  on 
my  shoulder,  but  it  'ud  take  more  than  a  thing  like 
that  to  push  me,  and,  arter  trying  his  'ardest,  he  could 
only  rock  me  a  bit. 

"I  went  at  last  because  I  wanted  to  see  that  boy 
agin,  and  the  young  policeman  follered  me  quite  a 
long  way,  shaking  his  silly  'ead  at  me  and  telling  me 
to  be  careful. 

"I  got  a  ride  part  o'  the  way  from  Commercial 
Road  to  Aldgate  by  getting  on  the  wrong  bus,  but  it 
wasn't  much  good,  and  I  was  quite  tired  by  the  time 
I  got  back  to  the  wharf.  I  waited  outside  for  a 

252 


4  Manners  Makyth  Man  >: 

minute  or  two  to  get  my  wind  back  agin,  and  then  I 
went  in — boiling. 

"You  might  ha'  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather, 
as  the  saying  is,  and  I  just  stood  inside  the  office 
speechless.  The  boy  'ad  disappeared  and  sitting  on 
the  floor  where  I  'ad  left  'im  was  a  very  nice-looking 
gal  of  about  eighteen,  with  short  'air,  and  a  white 
blouse. 

"'Good  evening,  sir,'  she  ses,  jumping  up  and 
giving  me  a  pretty  little  frightened  look.  'I'm  so 
sorry  that  my  brother  has  been  deceiving  you.  He's 
a  bad,  wicked,  ungrateful  boy.  The  idea  of  telling 
you  that  Mr.  Watson  was  'is  father!  Have  you  been 
there  ?  I  do  'ope  you're  not  tired.' 

"'Where  is  he?'  I  ses. 

"  '  He's  gorn,'  she  ses,  shaking  her  'ead.  '  I  begged 
and  prayed  of  'im  to  stop,  but  'e  wouldn't.  He  said 
'e  thought  you  might  be  offended  with  'im.  "Give 
my  love  to  old  Roley-Poley,  and  tell  him  I  don't  trust 
'im,"  he  ses/ 

"She  stood  there  looking  so  scared  that  I  didn't 
know  wot  to  say.  By  and  by  she  took  out  'er  little 
pocket-'ankercher  and  began  to  cry 

"  'Oh,  get  'im  back,'  she  ses.  'Don't  let  it  be  said 
I  follered  'im  'ere  all  the  way  for  nothing.  Have  an- 
other try.  For  my  sake!' 

"  "Ow  can  I  get  'im  back  when  I  don't  know  where 
he's  gorn  ?'  I  ses. 


;*  Manners  Makyth  Man  " 

f  *  He — he's  gorn  to  'is  godfather,'  she  ses,  dab- 
bing her  eyes.  'I  promised  'im  not  to  tell  anybody; 
but  I  don't  know  wot  to  do  for  the  best.' 

'Well,  p'r'aps  his  godfather  will  'old  on  to  'im,' 
I  ses. 

'  'He  won't  tell  'im  anything  about  going  to  sea,' 
she  ses,  shaking  'er  little  head.  '  He's  just  gorn  to  try 
and  bo-bo-borrow  some  money  to  go  away  with.' 

"She  bust  out  sobbing,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to 
get  the  godfather's  address  out  of 'er.  When  I  think 
of  the  trouble  I  took  to  get  it  I  come  over  quite  faint. 
At  last  she  told  me,  between  'er  sobs,  that  'is  name 
was  Mr.  Kiddem,  and  that  he  lived  at  27,  Bridge 
Street. 

'  He's  one  o'  the  kindest-'arted  and  most  gener- 
ous men  that  ever  lived,'  she  ses;  'that's  why  my 
brother  Harry  'as  gone  to  'im.  And  you  needn't 
mind  taking  anything  'e  likes  to  give  you;  he's  roll- 
ing in  money.' 

"I  took  it  a  bit  easier  going  to  Bridge  Street,  but 
the  evening  seemed  'otter  than  ever,  and  by  the  time 
I  got  to  the  'ouse  I  was  pretty  near  done  up.     A  nice, 
tidy-looking  woman  opened  the  door,  but  she  was 
a' most  stone  deaf,  and  I  'ad  to  shout  the  name  pretty 
near  a  dozen  times  afore  she  'card  it. 
1  'He  don't  live  'ere,'  she  ses. 
"  "As  he  moved  ?'  I  ses.     *  Or  wot?' 
255 


(t 


"She  shook  her  'ead,  and,  arter  telling  me  to  wait, 
went  in  and  fetched  her  'usband. 

'Never  'card  of  him,'  he  ses,  'and  we've  been 'ere 
seventeen  years.     Are  you  sure  it  was  twenty-seven  ?' 
( *  Sartain,'  I  ses. 

"  'Well,  he  don't  live  'ere,'  he  ses.  'Why  not  try 
thirty-seven  and  forty-seven?' 

"I  tried  'em:  thirty-seven  was  empty,  and  a  pasty- 
faced  chap  at  forty-seven  nearly  made  'imself  ill  over 
the  name  of  'Kiddem.'  It  'adn't  struck  me  before, 
but  it's  a  hard  matter  to  deceive  me,  and  all  in  a  flash 
it  come  over  me  that  I  'ad  been  done  agin,  and  that 
the  gal  was  as  bad  as  'er  brother. 

"  I  was  so  done  up  I  could  'ardly  crawl  back,  and 
my  'ead  was  all  in  a  maze.  Three  or  four  times  I 
stopped  and  tried  to  think,  but  couldn't,  but  at  last 
I  got  back  and  dragged  myself  into  the  office. 

"As  I  'a  rf  expected,  it  was  empty.  There  was  no 
sign  of  either  the  gal  or  the  boy;  and  I  dropped  into 
a  chair  and  tried  to  think  wot  it  all  meant.  Then, 
'appening  to  look  out  of  the  winder,  I  see  somebody 
running  up  and  down  the  jetty. 

"I  couldn't  see  plain  owing  to  the  things  in  the 
way,  but  as  soon  as  I  got  outside  and  saw  who  it  was 
I  nearly  dropped.  It  was  the  boy,  and  he  was  run- 
ning up  and  down  wringing  his  'ands  and  crying  like 
a  wild  thing,  and,  instead  o'  running  away  as  soon  as 

256 


Manners  Makyth  Man 


'; 


'e   saw   me,  he  rushed  right  up  to  me  and  threw 
'is  grubby  little  paws  round  my  neck. 

"'  Save  her!'  'e  ses.     'Save  'er!    Help\    Help!9 

(  '  Look  'ere,'  I  ses,  shoving  'im  off. 

"She  fell  overboard,'  he  ses,  dancing  about. 
'Oh,  my  pore  sister!  Quick!  Quick!  I  can't 
swim!' 

"He  ran  to  the  side  and  pointed  at  the  water, 
which  was  just  about  at  'arf-tide.  Then  'e  caught 
'old  of  me  agin. 

:  'Make  'aste,*  he  ses,  giving  me  a  shove  behind. 
'Jump  in.  Wot  are  you  waiting  for  ?' 

"I  stood  there  for  a  moment  'arf  dazed,  looking 
down  at  the  water.  Then  I  pulled  down  a  life-belt 
from  the  wall  'ere  and  threw  it  in,  and,  arter  another 
moment's  thought,  ran  back  to  the  Lizzie  and  Annie, 
wot  was  in  the  inside  berth,  and  gave  them  a  hail. 
I've  always  'ad  a  good  voice,  and  in  a  flash  the  skipper 
and  Ted  Sawyer  came  tumbling  up  out  of  the  cabin 
and  the  'ands  out  of  the  fo'c'sle. 
c'Gal  overboard!'  I  ses,  shouting. 

"The  skipper  just  asked  where,  and  then  'im  and 
the  mate  and  a  couple  of  'ands  tumbled  into  their 
boat  and  pulled  under  the  jetty  for  all  they  was 
worth.  Me  and  the  boy  ran  back  and  stood  with 
the  others,  watching. 

*  Point  out  the  exact  spot,'  ses  the  skipper. 
257 


"  Manners  Makyth  Man  " 

"The  boy  pointed,  and  the  skipper  stood  up  in  the 
boat  and  felt  round  with  a  boat-hook,  Twice  'e 
said  he  thought  'e  touched  something,  but  it  turned 
out  as  *e  was  mistaken.  His  face  got  longer  and 
longer  and  'e  shook  his  'ead,  and  said  he  was  arraid 
it  was  no  good. 

'' '  Don't  stand  cryin'  'ere,'  he  ses  to  the  boy,  kindly. 
'Jem,  run  round  for  the  Thames  police,  and  get 
them  and  the  drags.  Take  the  boy  with  you.  It'll 
occupy  'is  mind.' 

"  He  'ad  another  go  with  the  boat-hook  arter  they 
'ad  gone;  then  'e  gave  it  up,  and  sat  in  the  boat 
waiting. 

"  'This'll  be  a  bad  job  for  you,  watchman,'  he  ses, 
shaking  his  'ead.  'Where  was  you  when  it  'ap- 
pened  ?' 

"  'He's  been  missing  all  the  evening,'  ses  the  cook, 
wot  was  standing  beside  me.  'If  he'd  been  doing  'is 
dooty,  the  pore  gal  wouldn't  'ave  been  drownded. 
Wot  was  she  doing  on  the  wharf?' 

" '  Skylarkin',  I  s'pose,'  ses  the  mate.  '  It's  a 
wonder  there  ain't  more  drownded.  Wot  can  you 
expect  when  the  watchman  is  sitting  in  a  pub  all 
the  evening  ?' 

''The  cook  said  I  ought  to  be  'ung,  and  a  young 
ordinary  seaman  wot  was  standing  beside  'im  said 
he  would  sooner  I  was  boiled.  I  believe  they  'ad 

258 


*  Manners  Makyth  Man" 

words  about  it,  but  I  was  feeling  too  upset  to  take 
much  notice. 

"'Looking  miserable  won't  bring  'er  back  to  life 
agin/  ses  the  skipper,  looking  up  at  me  and  shaking 
his  'ead.  'You'd  better  go  down  to  my  cabin  and  get 
yourself  a  drop  o'  whisky;  there's  a  bottle  on  the 
table.  You'll  want  all  your  wits  about  you  when  the 
police  come.  And  wotever  you  do  don't  say  nothing 
to  criminate  yourself.' 

'We'll  do  the  criminating  for  'im  all  right/  ses  the 
cook. 

"If  I  was  the  pore  gal  I'd  haunt  'im/  ses  the 
ordinary  seaman;  'every  night  of  'is  life  I'd  stand 
afore  'im  dripping  with  water  and  moaning.' 

"  'P'r'aps  she  will/  ses  the  cook;  'let's  'ope  so, 
at  any  rate/ 

"I  didn't  answer  'em;  I  was  too  dead-beat.  Be- 
sides which,  I've  got  a  'orror  of  ghosts,  and  the  idea 
of  being  on  the  wharf  alone  of  a  night  arter  such  a 
thing  was  a'most  too  much  for  me.  I  went  on  board 
the  Lizzie  and  Annie,  and  down  in  the  cabin  I  found  a 
bottle  o'  whisky,  as  the  skipper  'ad  said.  I  sat  down 
on  the  locker  and  'ad  a  glass,  and  then  I  sat  worry- 
ing and  wondering  wot  was  to  be  the  end  of  it  all. 

"The  whisky  warmed  me  up  a  bit,  and  I  'ad  just 
taken  up  the  bottle  to  'elp  myself  agin  when  I  'card 
a  faint  sort  o'  sound  in  the  skipper's  state-room.  I 

259 


;<  Manners  Makyth  Man  " 

put  the  bottle  down  and  listened,  but  everything 
seemed  deathly  still.  I  took  it  up  agin,  and  'ad  just 
poured  out  a  drop  o'  whisky  when  I  distinctly  'card  a 
hissing  noise  and  then  a  little  moan. 

"For  a  moment  I  sat  turned  to  stone.  Then  I  put 
the  bottle  down  quiet,  and  'ad  just  got  up  to  go  when 
the  door  of  the  state-room  opened,  and  I  saw  the 
drownded  gal,  with  'er  little  face  and  hair  all  wet  and 
dripping,  standing  before  me. 

"Ted  Sawyer  'as  been  telling  everybody  that  I 
came  up  the  companion-way  like  a  fog-horn  that  'ad 
lost  its  ma;  I  wonder  how  he'd  'ave  come  up  if  he'd 
'ad  the  evening  I  had  'ad  ? 

"They  were  all  on  the  jetty  as  I  got  there  and 
tumbled  into  the  skipper's  arms,  and  all  asking  at 
once  wot  was  the  matter.  When  I  got  my  breath 
back  a  bit  and  told  'em,  they  laughed.  All  except 
the  cook,  and  'e  said  it  was  only  wot  I  might  expect. 
Then,  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  I  see  the  gal  come  out 
of  the  companion  and  walk  slowly  to  the  side. 

"'Look!'  I  ses.     'Look.     There  she  is!' 

"'You're  dreaming,'  ses  the  skipper,  'there's 
nothing  there.' 

"They  all  said  the  same,  even  when  the  gal  stepped 
on  to  the  side  and  climbed  on  to  the  wharf.  She 
came  along  towards  me  with  'er  arms  held  close  to 
'er  sides,  and  making  the  most  'orrible  faces  at  me, 

260 


'  Manners  Makyth  Man  " 

and  it  took  five  of 'em  all  their  time  to  'old  me.  The 
wharf  and  everything  seemed  to  me  to  spin  round  and 
round.  Then  she  came  straight  up  to  me  and  patted 
me  on  the  cheek. 

"  'Pore  old  gentleman,'  she  ses.  'Wot  a  shame  it 
is,  Ted!  It's  too  bad.' 

"They  let  go  o'  me  then,  and  stamped  up  and  down 
the  jetty  laughing  fit  to  kill  themselves.  If  they  'ad 
only  known  wot  a  exhibition  they  was  making  of 
themselves,  and  'ow  I  pitied  them,  they  wouldn't 
ha'  done  it.  And  by  and  by  Ted  wiped  his  eyes 
and  put  his  arm  round  the  gal's  waist  and  ses — 

"  'This  is  my  intended,  Miss  Florrie  Price,'  he  ses. 
'Ain't  she  a  little  wonder?  Wot  d'ye  think  of 'er?' 

"'I'll  keep  my  own  opinion/  I  ses.  'I  ain't  got 
nothing  to  say  against  gals,  but  if  I  only  IPT  ,ny 
hands  on  that  young  brother  of  'ers ' 

"They  went  off  agin  then,  worse  than  ever;  and 
at  last  the  cook  came  and  put  'is  skinny  arm  round 
my  neck  and  started  spluttering  in  my  ear.  I 
shoved  'im  off  hard,  because  I  see  it  all  then;  and 
I  should  ha'  seen  it  afore  only  I  didn't  'ave  time  to 
think.  I  don't  bear  no  malice,  and  all  I  can  say  is 
that  I  don't  wish  'er  any  harder  punishment  than  to  be 
married  to  Ted  Sawyer." 


261 


JUTTED  SAHTEU 


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